3   1822  01163  2973 


IE     RI 


ZOPHIEL; 


BY 

MARIA   DEL   OCCIDENTE, 

(MARIA    GOIVEN  BROOKS.) 


EDITED    BY 

ZADEL    BARNES    GUSTAFSON, 

AUTHOR   OF  "  MEG,   A   PASTORAL,"   AND    OTHER    POEMS. 


BOSTON : 
LEE    AND    SHEPARD,    PUBLISHERS. 

NEW  YORK: 

CHARLES    T.    DILLINGHAM. 
I879. 


COPYRIGHT,  1879, 
Bv  LEE  AND   SHEPARD. 

All  rights  reserved. 


CONTENTS. 


PACK 

MARIA  DEL  OCCIDENTE iii 

PREFACE  TO  THE  SECOND  AMERICAN  EDITION   .        .        .  xlvii 

Advertisement   .........  li 

Xotc  to  the  Second  Edition       ......  li 

PREFACE liii 

TO    ROISERT    SOUTHEY,    EsO Kr 

SONNET  TO  THE  MEMORY  OF  MARIA  DEL  OCCIDENTE       .  Ivii 

ZOPHIEL. 

CANTO  FIRST:   GROYE  OF  ACACIAS      .        .        .    '     .        .  3 

CANTO  SECOND:   DEATH  OF  ALTHEETOR     ....  39 

CANTO  THIRD:   PALACE  OF  GNOMES 81 

CANTO  FOURTH:   THE  STORM 119 

CANTO  FIFTH:   ZAMEIA 137 

CANTO  SIXTH:   DRIDAL  OF  HF.I.ON  171 


ODE  TO  THE  DEPARTED 191 

FAREWELL  TO  CUISA 201 

NOTES  TO  ZOPHIEL:  — 

Canto  First         .........  205 

Canto  Second 213 

Canto  Third        .........  229 

Canto  Fourth      .........  242 

Canto  Fifth 249 

Canto  Sixth 258 


MARIA   DEL   OCCIDENTE. 


"  My  purpose  had  now  become  fixed;  and,  despite  of  the  night  I  had 
passed,  my  appearance,  though  pale,  was  calm  to  those  around  me:  but,  if 
the  soul  which  now  warms  me  be  eternal,  the  remembrance  of  that  day,  so 
calm  to  those  around  me,  will  continue  to  the  latest  eternity.  ...  I  next 
looked  over  a  small  trunk  of  papers.  From  time  to  time  they  have  been 
saved,  when  my  imagination  was  under  the  influence  of  a  strong  but  vague 
hope  that  I  should  one  day  or  other  be  loved  and  renowned,  and  live 
longer  than  tny  natural  life  in  the  history  of  the  country  of  my  fore 
fathers,  and  in  that  where  I  first  beheld  the  light.  Now,  1  said,  no  mor 
tal  shall  smile  at  the  fancies  of  lonely  Idomen." 

Idomen  ;  or,  The  Vale  of  Yumiiri. 

IN  Cuba,  near  Limonal,  on  the  San  Patricio  cof 
fee-estate  Cafetal  Hermita,  stand,  now  crum 
bling  in  picturesque  decay,  the  ruins  of  a  small 
Grecian  temple,  where,  some  thirty  years  ago,  the 
very  passion-flower  of  womanly  genius  exhaled 
itself  away.  The  flight  of  steps  leading  to  this 
little  temple  is  overgrown  with  clambering  vines, 
that  mingle  their  dark  leaves  and  gay  flowers 
across  the  deserted  entrance.  The  path  leading 
to  it  is  an  avenue  of  stately  palms,  whose  matted 


IV  MARIA    DEL    OCCIDENTE. 

leafage  completely  shelters  the  way  from  the  sun  ; 
while  the  straight  shafts  of  the  palms,  wound 
about  with  ipomoea  and  convolvuli,  have  the  ap 
pearance  of  themselves  putting  forth  the  rich  blos 
soms  of  these  vines. 

The  little  temple  is  bowered  in  a  labyrinth  of 
orange-trees,  cocoas,  and  palms,  the  mango  and 
rose-apple,  the  ruddy  pomegranate  and  shady  tam 
arind;  while  the  coffee-fields  spread  away  in  al 
ternate  tessellation  of  white  flowers  and  scarlet 
berries. 

A  traveller  thus  alludes  to  this  fair  retreat :  "  I 
have  often  passed  it  in  the  still  night,  when  the 
moon  was  shining  brightly,  and  the  leaves  of 
the  cocoa  and  palm  threw  fringe-like  shadows  on 
the  walls  and  floor,  and  the  elfin  lamps  of  the 
cocullos  swept  through  the  windows  and  the  door, 
casting  their  lurid  and  mysterious  light  on  every 
object,  while  the  air  was  laden  with  the  mingled 
perfumes  of  the  coffee-wreaths  and  orange-flowers, 
the  tuberose  and  night-blooming  cereus  ;  and  have 
thought  no  fitter  birthplace  could  be  found  for  the 
images  she  created." 

Here,  in  the  retirement  of  the  rarely-disturbed 
repose  and  beauty  of  Hermita,  lived  and  passed 
away,  almost  unheard  and  unnoticed,  "  Maria  del 
Occidente,"  one  of  earth's  great  singers,  whose 
numbers,  having  always  grace  and  sweetness, 


MARIA    DEL    OCCIDENTE.  V 

have  often  also  the  majesty  and  the  fervid  pathos 
wrung  in  a  narrower  tide  from  Mrs.  Caroline  Nor 
ton  by  her  passionate  sense  of  her  own  wrongs, 
and  from  Mrs.  Browning  by  her  yearning  compas 
sion  over  others'  woes. 

And,  to  crown  these  gifts,  Maria  del  Occidente 
had  a  pure  recognition  of  the  Infinite  design  as 
manifested  through  the  mysterious  passion  of  love, 
which,  in  its  full,  simple,  unabashed  expression, 
makes  her  "  Zophiel "  among  the  bravest  and  the 
most  modest  of  the  creations  of  genius. 

Eighty-two  years  ago,  in  the  town  of  Medford, 
Mass.,  she  was  little  Maria  Gowen,  a  baby  girl 
around  whom  no  special  hopes  were  clustered,  and 
whose  baby  brows  foreshadowed  neither  the  glory 
nor  the  sorrows  of  the  poet's  purple-fruited  laurel. 

She  was  born  and  bred  American  ;  but  it  is  not 
unlikely  that  the  blood  of  the  Welsh  bards,  from 
whom  she  claimed  lineage,  may  have  tinctured  the 
fine  current  of  her  veins.  Her  short  life  of  only 
fifty  years  was  one  of  comparatively  little  outward 
incident :  yet  these,  mostly  of  her  awn  shaping, 
indicate  the  dignity  and  strength  of  her  character, 
and  mark  her  stainless  wifehood  and  her  devoted 
motherhood.  But  her  poems,  especially  her  great 
work  "  Zophiel,"  show  that  her  mental  and  spirit 
ual  life  was  a  passionately  vivid  aeon  of  intense 
experiences  ;  and  beneath  the  strong  music  of  her 


VI  MARIA    DEL    OCCIDEXTE. 

verse  breathes  ever  the  cry  of  the  conscious  isola 
tion  of  great  gifts,  the  supreme  longing  for  com 
plete  human  sympathy. 

In  all  the  individual  utterances  of  high  desire 
or  passionate  feeling  throughout  "Zophiel,"  it  is 
her  own  soul,  imprisoned  by  fate,  yet  liberated 
by  genius,  that  pleads,  yet  heroically  endures. 
"Zophiel"  was  first  published  entire  in  London  by 
Kennett,  under  the  care  and  fostering  of  Robert 
Southey,  who,  in  "The  Doctor,"  quotes  from  the 
sixth  canto  of  "  Zophiel :  "  — 

"  The  bard  has  sung,  God  never  formed  a  soul 

Without  its  own  peculiar  mate,  to  meet 
Its  wandering  half,  when  ripe,  to  crown  the  whole 

Bright  plan  of  bliss,  most  heavenly,  most  complete. 

"  But  thousand  evil  things  there  are  that  hate 

To  look  on  happiness  :  these  hurt,  impede, 
And,  leagued  with  time,  space,  circumstance,  and  fate. 

Keep  kindred  heart  from  heart,  to  pine  and  pant  and  bleed. 

"And  as  the  dove  to  far  Palmyra  flying 

From  where  her  native  founts  of  Antioch  beam, 

Weary,  exhausted,  longing,  panting,  sighing, 
Lights  sadly  at  the  desert's  bitter  stream  ; 

"  So  many  a  soul  o'er  life's  drear  desert  faring  — 
Love's  pure  congenial  spring  unfouncl,  unquaffed  — 

Surfers,  recoils  ;  then,  thirsty  and  despairing 

Of  what  it  would,  descends,  and  sips  the  nearest  draught." 


MARIA    DEL    OCCIDENTE.  Vll 

And  adds,  "  So  sings  Maria  del  Occidente,  the 
most  impassioned  and  most  imaginative  of  all 
poetesses."  "The  London  Quarterly  Review," 
with  restricted  appreciation,  admitted  Southey's 
praise,  after  substituting  the  word  "fanciful"  for 
"imaginative."  Charles  Lamb,  with  that  peculiar 
conceit  which  we  may  term  the  obsolete  character 
istic  of  great  men,  enforced  by  the  potent  thrall  of 
"  Zophiel,"  rose  from  the  reading  of  it  with  these 
words :  "  Southey  says  it  is  by  some  Yankee 
woman  :  as  if  there  had  ever  been  a  woman  capa 
ble  of  any  thing  so  great !  " 

With  all  that  can  be  gleaned  from  reviews 
and  the  brief  contemporaneous  sketches  which 
followed  the  publication  of  this  work,  and  were 
revived  with  some  slight  additions  at  her  death, 
her  life  is  involved  in  great  obscurity,  which  I 
have  found  it  difficult  to  penetrate,  and  have  been 
able  to  disperse  only  in  faint  and  narrow  lines, 
even  after  the  continued  and  earnest  effort  and 
research  of  several  years. 

Her  single  prose  story  "  Idomen,"  of  which  I 
shall  speak  later,  is  undoubtedly  autobigraphical ; 
and  within  the  limits  of  that  vivid  little  sketch  are 
the  chief  clews  to  the  exceptional  experiences  of 
her  private  history.  Her  father  was  a  gentleman 
of  literary  tastes  and  cultivation,  intimate  with  the 
Harvard  professors.  Nowhere  do  I  find  any  men- 


Vlll  MARIA    DEL    OCCIDENTE. 

tion  of  her  mother.  Rufus  Wilmot  Griswold,  in 
"  The  Encyclopedia  of  American  Literature "  of 
1856,  in  "The  Female  Poets"  (1853),  and  in 
"The  Southern  Literary  Messenger"  (1839),  gives 
the  most  adequate  sketch  of  our  author's  life.  He 
knew  and  corresponded  with  her  in  her  later 
years  ;  and  says,  that,  when  only  nine  years  old,  lit 
tle  Maria  Gowen's  poetic  temperament  and  power 
were  clearly  indicated  by  her  avid  committal  to 
memory  "of  passages  from  '  Comus,'  'Cato,' and 
the  ancient  classics."  That  she  became  a  student 
of  wide  and  accurate  learning  is  disclosed  in  her 
works ;  the  notes  of  "  Zophiel "  alone  being  a 
groundwork  of  erudition,  as  thickly  sprinkled  with 
occult  bits  of  thought,  research,  and  profound 
study,  as  the  tunic  and  tresses  of  an  odalisque  with 
gems. 

On  the  death  of  her  father,  she  was  engaged,  at 
the  early  age  of  fourteen,  to  Mr.  Brooks,  a  wealthy 
Boston  merchant,  and  soon  after  married  to  him  ; 
and,  after  reverses  of  fortune  resulting  in  poverty, 
she  turned  her  attention  to  the  definite  expression 
of  her  genius,  and  at  twenty  had  written  a  poem 
in  seven  cantos,  which  was  never  published.  In 
1820  she  issued  the  little  volume,  "Judith  and 
Esther,  and  Other  Poems,  by  a  Lover  of  the  Fine 
Arts,"  whose  genuine  poetic  worth  met  with  some 
appreciation.  In  1823,  becoming  a  widow,  she 


MARIA    DEL    OCCIDENTE.  IX 

went  to  Cuba,  making  her  home  with  a  relative, 
and  there  wrote  the  first  canto  of  "  Zophiel,  or 
The  Bride  of  Seven,"  publishing  it  in  Boston  in 
1825.  After  the  death  of  an  uncle,  a  Cuban 
planter,  whose  property,  left  to  her,  placed  her  in 
easy  circumstances  as  the  possessor  of  a  fixed  in 
come,  she  returned  to  the  United  States,  and  lived 
near  Dartmouth  College,  where  her  son,  Capt. 
Horace  Brooks  of  the  United-States  army,  was 
then  studying,  and  where  she  made  studious  use 
of  the  Dartmouth-College  Library.  In  1830  she 
went  with  a  brother  to  Paris,  and  in  London  met 
Washington  Irving,  who  most  kindly  encouraged 
her  in  the  production  of  her  poem.  But  it  was 
with  Southey,  at  Keswick,  where  she  passed  the 
spring  of  1831,  that  she  entered  into  that  strong 
and  sympathetic  friendship  which  fed  her  pure 
aspiration  with  the  appreciation  and  hope  that  kin 
dle  and  assure. 

Fortunately  I  can  swell  these  slender  outlines 
with  some  brief  testimony  from  persons  still  living, 
to  whom  I  would  here  express  my  grateful  ac 
knowledgments. 

In  1872,  her  son,  then  stationed  at  Fort  M'Hen- 
ry,  Baltimore,  Md.,  wrote  to  me  as  follows  :  — 

"  I  received  your  note,  addressed  to  the  Rev.  C.  Brooks, 
Medford,  through  my  cousin  Mrs.  Ellen  Parker  of  Boston. 
I  have  no  papers  of  my  mother's  near  me,  nor  can  I  at  pres- 


X  MARIA    DEL    OCCIDENTS. 

ent  get  at  them.  I  have,  however,  a  fine  miniature  done  by 
a  young  artist  (at  the  time  it  was  taken),  which  is  probably 
the  best  likeness  that  can  now  be  obtained,  and  which  I  will 
forward  to  you.  .  .  .  When  I  was  in  Cuba  in  1846,  the  little 
dilapidated  temple  (built  to  gratify  my  mother  by  her  brother) 
on  the  San  Patricio  coffee-estate,  in  which  most  of  '  Zdphiel ' 
was  written,  was  still  standing;  also  a  monument  —  a  granite 
base  surmounted  by  a  marble  cross — at  Limonal,  not  far 
from  Matanzas,  erected  by  me,  at  mother's  request,  over  my 
two  brothers.  There  is  her  resting-place  by  their  side.  I 
cut  her  name  upon  the  marble  with  my  own  hand,  to  corre 
spond  with  the  inscription  which  mother  placed  over  her 
sons." 

In  July,  1872,  I  wrote  to  him,  begging  him  to 
send  me  the  picture  of  his  mother,  and  requesting 
fullest  particulars  of  her  life  and  death,  her  char 
acter  and  peculiarities,  and  all  details  and  inci 
dents  of  interest.  To  this  Col.  Brooks  replied  :  — 

"  FORT  M'HENRY. 

"  The  first  peculiarity  of  my  mother  was  that  she  wrote  a 
round  and  remarkably  plain  hand,  which  I  do  not,  and  which 
you  must  excuse,  for  the  reason  that  I  seldom  write  for  pub 
lication.  I  will  send  the  miniature.  I  have  but  one  copy  of 
'Judith  and  Esther,'  which  I  fear  to  part  with,  as  I  know  not 
where  to  get  another.  My  changeable  life  has  prevented  my 
keeping  any  thing  safely.  I  cannot  at  present  get  at  any 
papers  of  my  mother's,  and  do  not  know  that  there  are  any 
left  such  as  you  might  desire. 

"  The  little  temple  (of  which  I  have  no  picture,  nor  of  the 
monument)  was  built  about  1825,  and  my  mother  died  about 
1845.  I  recollect  it  when  a  boy,  as  a  pretty  little  toy  at  the 


MARIA    DEL    OCCIDENTE.  XI 

end  of  a  beautiful  avenue,  four  rows  deep,  of  palms  inter 
spersed  with  orange-trees  and  many  other  tropical  plants. 
It  was  a  charming  spot,  and  illustrates  mother's  admiration 
of  the  picturesque. 

'•Whatever  charm  there  maybe  in  '£6phiel,'  and  what 
ever  talent  it  may  portray,  much  undoubtedly  is  due  to  the 
surroundings  of  the  miniature  temple  where  the  poem  was 
imagined,  and  its  verse  constructed,  by  a  nature  as  passionate 
as  the  name  of  the  flower  would  indicate  which  she  always 
wore  in  her  hair,  —  the  only  simple  adornment  of  naturally 
thick  and  beautiful  tresses. 

"  A  lady  of  position  recently  visited  this  f9rt,  and  spoke 
to  me  of  recollecting  my  mother's  peculiarity  of  dressing 
always  in  white,  even  to  white-silk  stockings  and  slippers : 
en  datnc  blanche  probably  originated  in  some  similar  pecul 
iarity.  My  mother's  special  characteristic  was  individuality. 
She  generally  succeeded  in  her  endeavors. 

"  For  instance,  she  applied  to  have  me  sent  to  West  Point, 
and  sent  me  to  Washington  in  1829  with  letters,  &c.  The 
appointment  was  promised,  but  by  some  influence  was  over 
ruled.  She  then  took  me  to  Hanover,  N.H.,  with  a  view  to 
my  entering  Dartmouth  College.  In  the  mean  time  she 
went  with  her  Quebec  brother  to  Europe,  where  she  visited 
Southey,  and  by  his  advice  and  protection  got  out  a  London 
edition  of  'Zdphiel.'  She  was  introduced  to  Lafayette,  who 
was  so  pleased  with  her,  that  he  urged  to  know  if  he  could 
be  of  any  service  to  her.  '  Yes,'  said  she  :  '  you  can  get  my 
son  into  West  Point.'  Upon  this  Lafayette  wrote  to  Ber 
nard,  our  then  chief  engineer  ;  and  the  appointment  of  a 
cadet  came  to  me. 

"  Southey  was  undoubtedly  much  interested  in  the  Ameri 
can  authoress  ;  for  when,  after  his  death,  I  visited  his  family, 
they  asked  for  the  correspondence  as  their  right,  and  I  sub 
sequently  sent  several  letters  to  them." 


Xll  MARIA    DEL    OCCIDENTS. 

Upon  receipt  of  this  letter,  with  the  promised 
portrait  of  his  mother,  I  wrote  again,  thanking  him 
for  the  use  of  it,  and  saying  that  the  completion 
of  this  tribute  still  depended  greatly  upon  him, 
which  I  explained  as  follows  :  — 

"  Since  my  last  letter  to  you  I  have  heard  from  Richard 
Hengist  Home  of  London,  who  has  cordially  interested 
himself  to  gain  information  in  this  matter.  He  has  obtained 
a  hint  from  Robert  Browning,  and  is  in  communication  with 
Alfred  Tennyson.  Mr.  Home  is  an  indefatigable  worker,  a 
man  of  brilliant  abilities,  with  a  wide  and  intimate  acquaint 
ance  among  distinguished  men  and  women.  Our  own  ven 
erable  poet  Longfellow,  during  a  recent  visit  at  his  home  in 
Cambridge,  told  me  that  the  most  important  step  in  my 
effort  to  write  effectively  of  your  mother  was  to  secure  the 
examination  of  her  private  papers.  I  told  him  what  you  had 
written  about  their  being  difficult  of  access ;  but  he  seemed 
to  feel  sure  you  would  overcome  all  difficulties,  or  put  me  in 
the  way  of  doing  so.  If  you  cannot  obtain  the  papers  your 
self,  will  you  not  tell  me  where  they  are,  or  authorize  me  to 
get  them  myself?  I  need  hardly  assure  you  that  I  will  take 
the  utmost  care  of  them,  and  use  your  confidence  with  the 
delicacy  due  to  it  and  to  her  memory.  I  entreat  this  favor 
of  you  in  your  mother's  name,  since  it  is  for  her  sake." 

Col.  Brooks  very  kindly  sent  me  his  copy  of 
"Judith  and  Esther,"  and  also  of  "  Idomcn,"  and 
continued  his  account :  — 

"  My  mother  was  quite  a  linguist.  She  read  and  wrote 
fluently  in  French,  Spanish,  and  Italian  ;  she  also  sang  many 
songs  in  these  tongues.  She  was  a  hard  student,  and  a 


MARIA    DEL    OCCIDENTE.  $111 

woman  of  much  research,  and  very  particular  to  obtain  her 
authority  from  the  original ;  and  often  attempted,  with  the 
assistance  of  some  friend,  the  translation  of  obscure  lan 
guages.  I  remember  that  she  kept  by  her  a  Persian  gram 
mar,  and  often  referred  to  it.  She  was  also  quite  an  artist, 
and  several  pieces  painted  by  her  in  water-colors  were  hang 
ing  up  about  her  rooms.  She  had  a  remarkable  memory ; 
and  many  curious  facts  she  had  stored  in  her  mind,  in  scraps 
of  poetry  she  had  learned  in  her  youth. 

"  Indeed,  her  mind  took  a  poetical  current  from  its  earli 
est  years.  She  had  a  remarkably  beautiful  form.  I  have 
heard  her  say,  that  when  young,  before  the  days  of  flowing 
skirts,  when  dresses  were  scant,  she  often  felt  ashamed  of 
herself  on  account  of  what  are  now  considered  curves  of 
beauty  being  then  too  well  defined.  She  was  a  constant 
attendant  at  church,  and  always  carried  with  her  an  English 
edition  of  the  services  of  the  church ;  but  she  detested  all 
cant  and  hypocrisy.  She  was  very  particular  about  her  own 
language,  disliked  all  interpolations,  and  always  referred  to 
Johnson  and  Walker.  It  was  delightful  to  hear  her  con 
verse.  Her  knowledge  of  present  and  past  events,  and  of  the 
prominent  characters  of  history,  was  astonishing.  She  would 
tell  anecdotes  of  persons  so  varied  and  interesting,  that  her 
quiet  and  unassuming  conversation  was  sought  and  listened 
to  by  many  distinguished  persons. 

"  I  remember  of  her  travelling  with  her  brother  several 
miles  in  order  to  see  an  Indian  chief,  and  get  the  precise 
accent  and  signification  of  an  Indian  word." 

In  1874  I  wrote  again  to  Col.  Brooks,  then  in 
Presidio,  San  Francisco,  with  reference  to  his 
mother's  private  letters  and  papers  ;  offering  to  re 
lieve  him  from  all  inconvenience  and  expense  by 


XIV  MARIA    DEL    OCCIDENTE. 

sending  a  responsible  person  for  them,  if  he  would 
consent,  and  designate  their  abiding-place.  To 
this  he  replied  substantially  as  before,  that  they 
were  scattered  about,  he  hardly  knew  where  him 
self ;  that  no  one  but  he  could  "unravel  the  con 
dition  of  affairs,"  and  it  was  impossible  for  him  to 
come  East  at  present. 

In  the  intervals  between  this  correspondence 
with  the  son  I  met  with  the  most  cordial  response 
in  other  directions  of  inquiry.  In  July,  1872,  I 
received  the  following  kind  letter  from  her  niece, 
Mrs.  Ellen  Parker  of  Boston  :  — 

"  Your  letter  to  the  Rev.  Mr.  Brooks  was  sent  to  me.  I 
being  a  niece  of  Maria  del  Occidente  :  and  I  thought  it  the 
best  way  to  assist  you  in  the  beautiful  work  you  think  of 
undertaking  to  forward  your  letter  to  Col.  Horace  Brooks, 
her  only  remaining  son,  and  he,  of  course,  would  have  in 
his  possession  what  you  would  require.  In  all  my  life,  I 
never  passed  more  than  a  few  months  in  the  society  of  my 
aunt,  Mrs.  Brooks ;  but  to  my  girlish  vision  she  always  ap 
peared  a  being  of  the  most  romantic  loveliness  and  grace. 
She  always  dressed  in  white  or  gray,  wearing  transparent 
sleeves,  through  which  her  beautiful  arms  were  seen ;  and 
her  hands  were  almost  always  covered  in  white-kid  gloves. 
She  seemed  to  reverence  her  own  personal  charms,  and  felt 
it  a  duty  to  preserve  her  own  sweetness.  When  past  the 
meridian  of  life,  her  hair  and  teeth  were  as  beautiful  as  those 
of  a  young  girl.  I  should  say  that  a  keen  sense  of  truth 
and  justice,  and  the  most  delicate  perceptions  and  actual 
worship  of  beauty,  were  the  predominant  traits  of  her  char- 


MARIA    DEL    OCCIDENTE.  XV 

acter.     I  regret  that  I  have  nothing  in  my  possession  which 
would  assist  you." 

The  Rev.  Alfred  Brooks  (brother  of  the  late 
Rev.  Charles  Brooks  of  New-England  fame  as  the 
"  Father  of  Normal  Schools"),  to  whom  I  wrote, 
supposing  him  to  be  a  relative  of  the  poetess,  —  in 
which  supposition  I  was  mistaken, — interested 
himself  most  kindly  to  open  a  way  for  me  ;  and  it 
is  to  him  I  owe  the  foregoing  graceful  letter  from 
Mrs.  Parker,  as  well  as  my  first  letter  from  Col. 
Brooks,  and  the  perusal  of  one  from  Miss  Lucy 
Osgood,  who,  in  mentioning  a  visit  of  Mrs.  Maria 
Gowen  Brooks  to  Medford,  says,  "  I  have  a  dim 
recollection  of  a  lady  walking  out  at  odd  hours, 
and  dressed  in  white  at  odd  seasons,  and  of  being 
told  that  she  was  Mrs.  Brooks,  of  the  Gowen  fam 
ily,  a  poetess.  She  and  her  family  soon  disap 
peared  ;  and  I  afterward  found,  chiefly  through  a 
long  respectful  article  in  one  of  the  English  re 
views,  that  we  had  had  a  flower  of  genius  among 
us,  and  in  our  stupidity  knew  it  not." 

By  another  Medford  lady  —  Miss  Eunice  Hall, 
who  frequently  saw  her  —  Mrs.  Brooks  is  described 
as  "a  very  handsome  lady,  winning  manners, 
purest  blonde  complexion,  blue  eyes,  abundant 
pale  golden  hair,  who  wrote  poetry,  and  sang  very 
sweetly." 

Mr.  Edwin  P.  VVhipple  wrote  me,  — 


XVI  MARIA    DEL    OCCIDENTE. 

"When  I  was  yeung  (about  nineteen,  I  think)  I  happened 
to  board  in  the  same  house  where  Mrs.  Brooks  resided,  and 
had  many  opportunities  of  being  acquainted,  through  her 
conversation,  with  the  trials  and  disappointments  of  her  life 
as  a  woman,  and  as  a  woman  of  letters.  I  had  a  great  re 
gard  for  her  personally,  and  a  warm  admiration  for  her 
genius.  .  .  .  There  was  a  certain  sweetness  and  softness  in 
her  voice,  which  I  remember;  and  on  all  topics  of  literature, 
in  which  she  was  widely  versed,  she  was  tolerant  and  just. 
I  regret  that  I  cannot  find,  in  hunting  among  my  papers,  any 
review  of  the  poems  of  this  strangely-neglected  woman  of 
genius.  I  must  have  written  many.  I  did  all  I  could  to 
extend  her  fame.  I  concurred  with  Dr.  Griswokl  in  all  his 
attempts  to  make  her  striking  merits  as  a  poet  admitted  by 
her  countrymen  and  countrywomen.  It  was  all  useless. 
The  American  people  seemed  to  be  joined  in  a  conspiracy 
not  to  read  'Zophicl,'  in  spite  of  Southey  and  'The  Quarterly 
Review,'  and  in  spite  of  the  endeavors  of  American  critics 
who  took  a  just  pride  in  the  genius  of  their  countrywoman." 

As  woman,  wife,  mother,  poet,  and  friend,  in 
every  relation  of  life,  and  in  its  details  of  dress, 
appearance,  and  manner,  Maria  del  Occidente 
seems  to  have  been  a  being  of  the  most  singular 
and  attractive  interest. 

In  1876  I  had  some  correspondence  with  the 
Southey  family  and  the  Coleridges.  Their  letters, 
without  exception,  were  kind,  and  full  of  desire  to 
assist  me  ;  but  they  were  unable  to  furnish  much 
new  material. 

From  one  of  these  letters,  written  by  the  Rev. 


MARIA    DEL    OCCIDENTE.  XV11 

Derwent  Coleridge,  I  quote  :  "  Maria  del  Occidente 
does  indeed  deserve  to  be  honorably  remembered 
among  the  first  poets  of  her  native  land.  It  is 
difficult  to  recover  memorials  of  a  life  that  is  sunk 
beneath  the  stream  of  Lethe.  A  copy  of  her 
'  Zophie'l '  was  presented  to  my  dear  sister,  Sara 
Coleridge,  by  Mr.  Bancroft,  the  American  minister, 
in  1834,  and  is  now  in  my  house."  The  wife  of 
Rev.  Derwent  Coleridge  pushed  inquiry  for  me 
among  the  Southeys,  and  sent  the  following  from 
Mrs.  Herbert  Hill,  a  daughter  of  Robert  Southey : 
"  I  fear  I  can  give  no  account  of  Mrs.  Brooks  that 
will  be  of  any  use  to  her  biographer  and  friend. 
I  have  no  personal  recollection  of  her,  having  been 
away  from  home  during  her  stay  at  Keswick ;  but 
I  well  remember  how  full  of  her  charms  the  letters 
were  that  I  received  from  home  at  that  time. 
Herbert  has  looked  through  my  father's  '  Life  and 
Correspondence,'  and  has  copied  out  the  only 
thing  worth  stating ;  "  which  was  from  the  "  Se 
lection  of  Southey's  Letters,"  edited  by  J.  W. 
Warter. 

KESWICK,  Oct.  13,  1833. 

MY  DEAR  MRS.  BKAY, —  .  .  .  Has  "  Zophie'l  "  fallen  in 
your  way?  Probably  not;  for  books  which  have  only  their 
own  merit  to  introduce  them  make  their  way  slowly,  if  they 
make  it  at  all.  The  authoress,  who  calls  herself  Maria  del 
Occidente,  is  a  widow,  by  name  Mrs.  Brooks,  a  New-Eng- 
lander  by  birth,  of  Welsh  extraction.  She  married,  — or,  to 


XV111  MARIA    DEL    OCCIDENTE. 

speak  in  this  case  more  correctly,  was  married,  —  when 
almost  a  child,  to  a  person  at  least  thrice  her  own  age,  and 
as  little  suited  to  her  in  other  respects  as  in  years.  He  left 
her  with  two  sons,  one  of  whom  is  now  an  officer  in  the 
American  army;  the  other  settled  as  a  planter  in  Cuba,  where 
most  of  "Zdphiel"  was  written.  Mrs.  Brooks,  I  doubt  not, 
always  has  been,  and  still  is,  haunted  by  the  feeling,  that,  if 
she  had  been  mated  with  one  capable  of  esteeming  and  lov 
ing  her  as  she  deserved  to  be  esteemed  and  loved,  she  would 
have  been  one  of  the  happiest  of  God's  creatures.  In  ap 
pearance  and  manners  she  is  one  of  the  gentlest  and  most 
feminine  of  women.  Her  poem  is,  in  the  foundation,  the 
story  of  Tobias  and  Raguel's  daughter;  yet  it  is  a  most 
original  composition,  highly  fanciful,  and  passionate  in  the 
highest  degree.  It  has  the  fault  of  not  being  always  per 
spicuous;  but  that  any  person  who  has  read  few,  if  any,  of 
our  elder  poets,  and  certainly  never  studied  any  of  them, 
nor  looked  upon  poetry  as  an  art,  should  be  so  free  from  the 
vices  of  modern  diction,  and  possess  so  much  of  elder  sim 
plicity  and  beauty  and  strength,  is  most  remarkable.  Alto 
gether  the  poem  is  the  effusion  of  a  heart  whose  fervor 
neither  time  nor  untoward  fortune  has  cooled ;  and  of  an 
inspiration  so  vivid,  that  it  almost  believes  in  its  own  crea 
tions.  There  is  a  song  in  the  last  canto  which  is  more 
passionate  than  any  I  can  call  to  mind  in  any  language,  and 
in  my  judgment  far,  very  far,  superior  to  Sappho's  celebrated 
ode. 

I  give  also,  somewhat  abridged,  the  following 
interesting  letter  from  Southey's  son-in-law  and 
literary  editor,  the  Rev.  John  Wood  Warter,  who 
was  over  seventy-one  years  of  age  at  the  time  this 
quaint  and  readable  letter  was  written  :  — 


MARIA    DEL    OCCIDENTE.  XIX 

"  I  have  deferred  answering  your  letter  till  I  had  tried  to 
find  out  if  any  letters  of  Maria  del  Occidente  were  in  posses 
sion  of  the  Southey  family.  By  this  morning's  post  I  have 
a  letter  from  my  brother-in-law,  the  Rev.  Cuthbert  Southey, 
in  which  he  states  that  there  are  none,  adding  that  he  well 
remembers  her  visit  to  Keswick.  My  lamented  wife,  Edith 
May  Southey  (Southey's  eldest  daughter),  knew  and  liked 
her.  At  Southey's  sale  she  requested  me  to  buy  the  manu 
script  of  'Zophiel;'  which  I  did,  and  it  is  before  me  now. 
We  received  more  than  one  little  parcel  from  her,  of  guava- 
jelly,  and  two  book-screens  which  are  now  on  my  mantel 
piece.  I  rather  suspect  more  is  known  of  her  than  you 
suspect.  Probably  she  may  allude  to  herself  in  that  stanza 
quoted  in  'The  Doctor.'  It  was  generally  believed  that  she 
was  married,  when  a  mere  child,  to  an  elderly  man  at  least 
thrice  her  own  age ;  but  I  have  only  picked  this  up  from 
private  letters,  and  can  state  nothing  on  authority.  Southey 
often  spoke  of  her,  as  did  my  wife,  as  of  a  gentle,  pensive 
person,  quite  different  from  what  might  have  been  expected 
from  the  gifted  and  impassioned  author  of  '  Zophiel.'  She 
won  the  regard  of  all  the  household  during  the  few  weeks  of 
her  stay  at  Keswick.  Since  I  received  your  letter  I  have 
carefully  read  through  'Zophiel'  again,  and  think  it  as  won 
derfully  clever  as  ever;  but  it  was  ill  adapted  to  the  English 
taste,  which  had  been  surfeited  with  '  Don  Juan  '  and  Moore. 
The  manuscript  is  perhaps  the  greatest  scrawl  you  ever 
saw.  I  regret  I  am  unable  to  give  you  more  information ; 
but  you  may  depend  upon  it,  it  is  to  be  found  either  in 
'  Kuba '  (as  she  pronounced  Cuba),  or  about  Matanzas.  Most 
of  my  American  correspondents  are  past  and  gone.  The 
late  Jared  Sparks,  his  wife  and  family,  visited  me  here  some 
years  ago.  He,  too,  has  been  gathered  in.  He  brought  to 
my  daughters  autographs  from  Longfellow." 


XX  MARIA    DEL    OCCIDENTE. 

The  following  letter  was  written  by  Richard 
Hengist  Home  in  answer  to  inquiries  about  Mrs. 
Brooks :  — 

"  With  regard  to  Maria  del  Occidente,  I  perfectly  recol 
lect  reading  a  review,  in  one  of  our  quarterlies,  of  her  poem, 
in  conjunction  with  several  others,  most  of  whom  seem  to 
wither  beside  her  burning  spirit.  I  agree  with  what  Southey 
said  of  her  superiority  to  all  other  poetesses,  my  dear  friend 
and  correspondent  Miss  E.  D.  Barrett  (afterward  Mrs. 
Browning)  not  having  appeared  at  that  time.  You  are 
aware  that  the  latter  was  also  a  star  from  the  West,  and 
either  born  in  the  West  Indies,  or  of  parents  born  there.  I 
fear  what  you  want  concerning  Maria  Brooks  is  scarcely 
attainable  now.  Twenty  years  ago,  when  I  went  to  Austra 
lia,  I  could  probably  have  helped  you.  Miss  Mitford,  Mrs. 
Browning,  Charlotte  Bronte,  Mrs.  Hemans,  and  Miss  Lan- 
don  (L.  E.  L.),  could  most  likely  have  told  you  more  or  less 
of  Mrs.  Brooks.  So  could  Jordan  (of  '  The  Gazette'),  Leigh 
Hunt,  Robert  Bell,  and  others  ;  but,  alas  !  all  these  and  more 
young  literary  friends  are  gone.  By  the  by,  it  is  possible 
that  in  Bell's  edition  of  the  '  British  Poets '  you  may  find 
her  mentioned.  In  case  you  have  not  the  work,  I  will  look 
into  it  the  next  time  I  am  in  the  British-Museum  Library; 
and,  if  there  be  any  thing  worth  copying  out,  I  will  send  it 
to  you.  Tennyson  and  Browning  may  have  known  some 
thing  of  her." 

Later  he  adds,  — 

"  I  enclose  Browning's  reply  with  regard  to  Mrs.  Brooks : 
'  As  to  Maria  del  Occidente,  I  know  the  name,  but  never 
remember  hearing  it  from  my  wife.  You  revive  old  impres 
sions  in  me  that  there  is  real  worth  in  her  poetry,  judging 


MARIA    DEL    OCCIDENTE.  XXI 

from  the  echoes  rather  than  the  veritable  voice,  which  I 
never  heard ;  and  I  wonder  that  I  can  give  you  no  sort  of 
account  of  the  lady.'  " 

In  this  letter  Mr.  Home  very  kindly  sent  a 
charming  sonnet,  never  before  published,  which, 
especially  in  its  closing  lines,  is  in  deep  sympa 
thy  with  the  abrupt  catastrophe  of  "Idomen;"  and 
for  this  reason  I  have  selected  it  as  being  pecul 
iarly  tender  and  fitting  for  the  inscription-page  of 
this  volume.  My  paper  on  "  Maria  del  Occi- 
dente"  (of  which  the  present  writing  is  in  part  a 
reconstruction)  in  the  "Harper's  Magazine"  for 
January,  giving  Mr.  Home's  sonnet  shorter  by 
one  line  than  it  now  appears,  elicited  from  him  a 
very  kind  letter,  enclosing  a  revision  of  the  son 
net  with  the  missing  line  supplied ;  concerning 
which  I  cannot  forbear  quoting,  somewhat  at  my 
own  expense :  "  You  will  be  amused  when  I  tell 
you  the  cause  of  this  additional  line  originated  in 
your  use  of  a  word  intended  for  what  the  Span 
iards  and  Italians  would  call  an  'affectionate 
diminutive,'  —  i.e.,  my  'charming  little  sonnet.' 
As  all  sonnets  should  be  conventionally  of  the 
same  size,  I  was  suddenly  induced  to  count  the 
lines,  and  discovered  that  what  I  had  intended  as 
a  kind  of  elegiac  sister  to  your  '  Maria  del  Occi- 
dente '  had  lost  one  leg !  Perhaps  I  did  not  call 
it  a  sonnet !  "  But  he  did  ! 


XXII  MARIA    DEL    OCCIDENTE. 

Early  in  1876  I  made  one  more  appeal  to  Col. 
Brooks,  reiterating  my  desire  for  the  possession  of 
his  mother's  papers.  He  replied  that  no  one  but 
himself  could  possibly  find  them  if  any  existed  ; 
that  since  her  death  he  had  "  been  through  the  old 
Mexican  war,  the  new  Mexican  war,  the  Kansas 
war,  and  the  Rebellion  :  so  you  can  imagine  what 
changes  have  taken  place,  and  how  my  effects  are 
scattered.  I  gave  a  copy  of  'Zophiel'  to  Adju 
tant-Gen.  Townsend,  who  will  lend  it  to  you,  I 
think.  If  I  go  East  this  summer,  I  will  endeavor 
to  look  up  her  papers  ;  but  I  still  doubt  if  any 
thing  of  importance  could  be  found.  You  must 
know  that  I  feel  very  grateful  to  you,"  &c. 

On  my  application  for  it,  Gen.  E.  D.  Townsend 
at  once  placed  his  copy  of  "Zophiel"  at  my  dis 
posal. 

"Zophiel,  or  The  Bride  of  Seven,"  is  an  Ori 
ental  epic.  The  foundation  is  the  story  of  Sara, 
Raguel's  daughter,  of  the  Median  city  of  Ecba- 
tane,  as  given  in  the  fifth,  sixth,  and  seventh  chap 
ters  of  the  book  of  Tobit,  in  the  Apocrypha. 
Sara,  a  beautiful  and  good  maiden,  is  bitterly 
reproached  because  "she  had  been  married  to 
seven  husbands,  whom  Asmodeus,  the  evil  spirit, 
had  killed  before  they  had  lien  with  her."  Un 
happy  in  being  the  cause  of  so  many  deaths,  and 
suffering  from  the  reproaches,  Sara  prays  for 


MARIA    DEL    OCCIDENTE.  XX111 

death,  but  that,  if  she  must  continue  to  live,  some 
mercy  and  pity  may  be  shown  her.  In  answer  to 
this  prayer  the  angel  Raphael  was  sent  to  bring 
Tobias  to  the  house  of  Raguel,  where  Sara  should 
be  given  to  him  to  be  his  wife.  Nothing  daunted 
by  the  father's  confession  concerning  Sara's  seven 
bridegrooms,  Tobias  entreats  for  an  immediate  mar 
riage  ;  and,  the  evil  spirit  Asmodeus  being  over 
come  by  a  peculiar  spell,  the  predestined  nuptials 
take  place.  Upon  this  foundation  the  author  of 
"  Zophiel "  enlarges,  mingling  the  dramatic  move 
ment,  situations,  and  passionate  climaxes  created 
by  her  own  affluent  imagination,  with  the  rich 
imagery  and  action  of  ancient  myth. 

With  the  threefold  quality  of  the  highest  order 
of  genius,  the  intuitive,  perceptive,  and  creative, 
she  detaches  whatever  she  uses  from  its  original 
source,  and  so  imbues  i.t  with  her  own  meaning, 
so  individualizes  it  with  her  own  inspiration,  that 
it  enters  into  a  new  crystallization. 

The  plot  of  the  poem  clearly  indicates  its 
author's  purpose, — to  show  how  the  passion  of 
love  affects  individual  fate,  moulding  and  swaying 
both  human  and  angelic  nature.  The  scenery  of 
the  drama  is  painted,  the  characters  are  chosen, 
the  circumstances  for  their  development  selected, 
to  this  end  ;  and  no  expression  of  individual 
opinion  however  appreciative,  and  no  review  or 


XXIV  MARIA    DEL    OCCIDENTE. 

criticism  however  capable,  can  be  so  adequate  an 
act  of  justice  as  the  republication  of  the  poem 
itself.  For  those  lovers  of  literature  who  have 
not  leisure  for  its  more  studious  pursuit  I  have 
prepared  the  following  prose  sketch  of  the  scenes 
and  movement  of  "  Zophiel,"  in  the  hope  that  it 
may  be  a  welcome  facilitation  to  their  understand 
ing  and  enjoyment  of  its  beauties. 

The  author's  notes  to  "  Zophiel,"  which  are  well 
worth  reading,  independent  of  the  beautiful  poem 
they  elucidate,  —  and  which  were  originally  printed 
not  only  in  groups  at  the  close  of  each  canto,  but 
scattered  through  the  cantos  themselves,  the  text 
being  plentifully  defaced  with  asterisks,  daggers, 
and  numerals,  —  have  been  re-arranged,  and  placed 
by  themselves  at  the  close  of  the  book,  with  such 
designation  of  page,  verse,  and  line,  as  will  not 
only  enable  the  reader  to  find  any  passage  referred 
to  with  facility,  but,  when  found,  to  enjoy  it  free 
from  the  intrusiveness  of  mechanical  signs. 

Concerning  these  notes  I  quote  from  the  preface 
of  the  original  edition  :  — 

"  One  or  two  short  articles  in  journals  of  this  country 
object  to  this  poem  as  being  difficult  to  understand ;  but 
those  who  make  the  objection  probably  read  it  hastily,  and 
confused  themselves  by  looking  from  the  verses  to  the  notes, 
and  back  again,  thus  distracting  the  attention.  It  will  be 
better  to  read  the  story  as  it  was  composed,  without  refer- 


MARIA    DEL    OCCIDENTE.  XXV 

ence  to  explanations  or  comments  till  the  whole  is  finished. 
The  notes  can  be  read  afterwards  with  equal  advantage. 
Indeed,  they  are  merely  added  to  show  how  much  authority 
exists  for  every  incident  and  allusion  of  a  narrative  im 
agined  under  the  influence  of  soft  luxuriant  tropical  scenery, 
where  the  writer  drew  solely  from  nature,  and  had  access 
to  no  books  at  all  relative  to  the  subject.  'Zophiel,'  if 
read  in  the  manner  proposed,  will  be  found  as  simply  ar 
ranged,  and  as  easy  to  comprehend,  as  the  tales  of  '  Arabian 
Nights,'  or  any  common  novel." 

For  my  own  part,  I  would  suggest  that  the  notes 
to  one  canto  at  a  time  should  be  read  first,  and 
without  alternately  looking  from  the  verse  to  the 
notes,  and  thereafter  the  canto  to  which  the  notes 
so  read  refer ;  and  I  think  it  will  be  found  that  the 
delicate  significances  and  shades  of  meaning  thus 
imparted  to  the  first  reading  of  each  canto  will 
richly  repay  the  reader's  care. 

The  Asmodeus,  Raguel,  Sara,  Raphael,  and 
Tobias  of  the  apocryphal  story  are  respectively 
the  Zophiel,  Zorah,  Egla,  Hariph,  and  Helon  of 
the  poem. 

"  Zophiel  "  opens  with  a  strange  appeal,  in  a 
mood  both  brave  and  desolate.  As  in  mournful 
prescience  of  the  lack  of  wide  recognition  she  was 
to  experience,  the  singer,  from  the  solitude  of  her 
little  temple,  salutes  the  "shade  of  Columbus," 
her  Cymbrian  ancestors,  the  bards  of  Mona,  and 
the  "spirits  who  hovered  o'er  the  Euphrates 


XXVI  MARIA    DEL    OCCIDENTE. 

stream  "  before  the  first  waking  of  Eve,  seeming 
to  entreat  an  audience  of  these. 

The  first  canto,  "A  Grove  of  Acacias,"  con 
tains  something  of  the  argument  of  the  whole 
poem,  introduces  the  "  bride  of  seven,"  and  gives 
the  first  act  in  the  sixfold  tragedy. 

One  day,  while  Egla  is  reclining  in  the  grove, 
she  is  joined  by  her  mother  Sephora,  who  entreats 
Egla  to  choose  a  husband,  or  to  permit  one  to  be 
chosen  for  her.  Egla,  in  reply,  tells  Sephora  of 
the  visit  of  an  old  man  in  the  wood  (the  same  who 
appears  under  the  name  HarifJi  in  the  progress  of 
the  poem),  who  foretold  to  her  the  bridegroom  who 
would  one  day  come  to  her  from  the  Euphrates, 
impressing  his  prophecy  by  revealing  himself  as 
the  angel  Raphael  for  an  instant  before  vanish 
ing.  Sephora  discredits  not  Egla,  but  the  vision  ; 
dreads  the  fading  of  Egla's  youth  and  beauty,  and 
beseeches  her  not  to  waste  them  upon  a  "  thought- 
love." 

Egla  yields  a  sorrowful  yet  gentle  obedience  to 
her  mother's  persuasions,  and  is  left  to  sleep  in  her 
acacian  bower. 

Into  the  Lethean  hush  of  these  Persian  woods 
enters  Zophiel,  a  fallen  but  powerful  angel,  the 
most  majestic  conception  of  this  poem.  He  sees 
the  faint  flame  where  Zorah,  Egla's  father,  sacri 
fices  in  the  wood  ;  and,  brooding  over  the  lost  joys 


MARIA    DEL    OCCIDENTE.  XXV11 

of  heaven,  he  apostrophizes  ambition  in  a  strong 
outburst  of  eloquent  despair.  Approaching  the 
bower,  and  believing  that  he  sees  a  "faithful 
angel "  in  the  beautiful  sleeper,  he  turns  to  depart, 
but  is  arrested  by  a  sigh  from  Egla ;  perceives 
that  she  is  but  a  mortal  maiden,  though  so  fair  ; 
and  in  the  yearning  of  his  naturally  loving  soul, 
intensified  by  banishment,  resolves  to  win  her  love 
for  himself. 

At  length,  on  the  night  set  apart  for  the  mar 
riage  of  Egla  with  Meles,  the  reluctant  girl  retires 
to  her  chamber,  and  prays  for  a  submissive  spirit  to 
do  her  parents'  will.  From  this  melancholy  devo 
tion  she  is  roused  by  the  coming  of  Zophiel,  who, 
revealing  his  supernal  beauty,  entreats  for  her  con 
fidence  with  every  exquisite  art  of  tenderness;  but 
Egla,  by  pure  virginal  instinct,  detects  treachery 
in  ZophieTs  appeal,  resists  his  powerful  spell,  and 
re-affirms  her  acceptance  of  Meles  in  obedience  to 
her  parents.  Zophiel  vanishes,  and  Meles  enters, 
only  to  be  mysteriously  slain  at  the  bridal  bedside. 

Neither  in  "The  Loves  of  the  Angels"  nor  in 
"  Lalla  Rookh "  does  Thomas  Moore's  flowing 
measure  equal  the  musical  cadences  of  "  Zophiel ;  " 
and  there  is  greater  beauty  of  scene  and  bloom 
lavished  on  the  single  acacian  bower  where  Zo 
phiel  wistfully  watches  over  Egla's  sleep  than  on 
the  whole  journey  of  the  beautiful  Lalla.  In  the 


XXV111  MARIA    DEL    OCCIDENTE. 

Choric  Song  of  Tennyson's  "Lotos-Eaters,"  the 
mosaic  detail  of  sensuous  description,  though  as  deli 
cate,  is  not  so  thoughtful,  nor  so  warm  in  feeling. 

Sardius,  the  young  king  of  Media,  learning  the 
manner  of  his  favorite  Meles'  death,  detains  Egla 
in  his  palace  in  strict  but  kind  restraint,  which  is 
jealously  observed  by  Philomars.  This  character, 
limned  in  three  verses,  is  one  of  the  darkest  and 
strongest  pictures  of  the  human  fiend  to  be  found 
in  literature. 

Egla's  dress,  when  sent  for  to  "evening  ban 
quet  "  with  King  Sardius,  is  something  more  than 
a  superb  festal  toilet :  it  is  the  artistic  expression 
of  her  nature  and  situation,  modestly  yet  con 
sciously  chosen  by  her  to  be  such.  In  every 
scene,  under  every  test,  Egla's  charm  is  one  with 
her  goodness,  and  every  soul  that  is  moved  by  her 
beauty  is  moved  higher. 

Byron  and  Swinburne  have  a  language -magic 
something  like  that  in  which  this  toilet !  and  ban 
quet  scene  are  described  ;  but  neither  so  infuse 
their  description  of  woman's  beauty  with  that 
intenser  loveliness  of  the  spirit  which  makes  the 
body  the  breath  and  picture  of  the  soul.  In  the 
second  canto,  after  several  gay  courtiers  have 
dared  and  met  the  doom  of  Meles,  at  the  thresh 
old  of  Egla's  chamber,  Altheetor,  a  very  beautiful 

1  See  Canto  Second,  pp.  53,  54. 


MARIA    DEL    OCCIDENTE.  XXIX 

youth  of  Sardius'  court,  of  a  nature  pure  and  high 
as  it  is  ardent,  falls  ill,  pines  secretly  for  Egla, 
and  becomes  another  victim  of  ZophieTs  jealous 
wrath. 

In  the  third  and  fourth  cantos,  "  Palace  of  the 
Gnomes"  and  "The  Storm,"  we  have  a  descrip 
tion  of  celestial  and  inframundane  scenery  and 
drama,  and  the  spiritual  proportions  of  Zophiel 
come  into  full  relief. 

In  the  first  scene  of  "The  Palace  of  the 
Gnomes"  Zophiel  and  Phraerion  sit  conversing 
among  the  moonlighted  ruins  on  the  banks  of  the 
lotos-broidered  Tigris.  The  description  of  the 
scene  around  them  is  delicate  as  an  ivory-paint 
ing,  and  bright  and  iris-tinted  as  that  structure 
of  aerial  fancies,  "The  House  of  Clouds."1 

The  characters  of  Zophiel  and  Phraerion  are  con 
trasted  with  an  admirable  penetration  ;  Phraerion 
being  the  beautiful,  gentle,  languid  spirit,  to  whom 
the  haunts  of  the  most  rare  and  fragrant  flowers 
and  dews,  and  the  secrets  of  their  precious  distil 
lations,  are  known.  In  nothing  but  the  softness 
of  love  is  he  a  companion  for  the  strong,  restless, 
suffering  Zophiel ;  but  the  latter,  formed  for  in- 
tensest  love  and  friendship,  and  bereft  of  heaven 
and  its  companionships,  in  his  loneliness  draws  the 
mild  Phraerion  to  him  by  the  little  link  of  love 

1  Mrs.  E.  15.  Browning. 


XXX  MARIA    DEL    OCCIDENTE. 

that  is  possible  to  their  differing  natures,  and 
cherishes  him  with  that  pathetic  fidelity  which  is 
conscious  of  giving  an  ocean  in  exchange  for  a  rill. 
Nevertheless,  this  complex  and  very  human  Zo 
phie'l  coerces  the  pleasure-loving,  shrinking  Phrae- 
rion  to  serve  him  by  conducting  him  through  all 
the  tortures  and  horrors  of  a  subterranean  jour 
ney  ;  for  these  spirits  are  formed  to  feel  unspeak 
able  pangs  from  ordinary  contact  with  material 
substances  of  earth  and  wave. 

At  the  submarine  palace  of  the  gnome  Ta- 
hathyam  Zophiel  obtains  a  crystal  spar,  in  which 
one  drop  of  the  elixir  which  perpetuates  life  is 
enclosed. 

With  this  between  his  lips,  and  his  fragile  guide 
Phraerion  clasped  to  his  breast,  he  sets  out  to 
return  from  the  sea-deeps  to  the  earth's  surface. 
The  most  violent  submarine  storm  engages  all  his 
supernatural  powers ;  and  the  precious  spar,  —  con 
taming  the  potent  crystal  drop  which  is  to  perpet 
uate  for  Zophie'l  the  youth  and  beauty  of  Eg] a,  — 
for  the  possession  of  which  so  much  has  been  en 
dured,  is  dashed  from  his  lips,  and  whelmed  in  an 
ocean-gulf,  into  whose  vortex  he  may  not  plunge 
without  remaining  an  eternity.  The  two  storm- 
spent  sprites  emerge  "  near  Lybia's  coast,"  only  to 
encounter  a  terrific  earth-storm,  in  whose  relentless 
fury  Zophie'l  perceives  the  malignant  purpose  of 


MARIA    DEL    OCCIDENTE.  XXXI 

an  evil  spirit  more  powerful  than  himself.  He 
lends  all  his  strength  and  care  to  shelter  the  deli 
cate  Phraerion  ;  but  at  last,  in  the  storm's  climax, 
both  are  dashed  "prostrate  on  the  sands," 

Though  there  are  glimpses  of  the  "  Inferno  "  in 
"  Zophiel, "  the  story  does  not  lead  through  its 
scenes.  Yet  the  great  likeness  in  kind  and  quality 
between  the  genius  of  the  "melancholy  Floren 
tine  "  and  that  revealed  in  "  Zophiel "  could  not 
escape  the  student  of  both  poets.  In  scope  and 
plot  the  "Inferno"  and  "Zophiel"  are  scarcely  to 
be  compared :  there  is  too  much  unlikeness  of 
attempt.  But  the  soul-current  vitalizing  each  of 
these  poems  is  the  warm  and  brilliant,  passionate 
and  profound,  tide  of  a  like  inspiration.  In  the 
plot  of  "  Zophiel "  the  stream  flows  necessarily 
between  nearer  banks,  but  proves  its  identity  of 
source  by  the  floating  flower,  the  golden  sand,  the 
tint  and  depth  and  lustre  that  flow  from  no  lesser 
springs. 

In  the  tenth  canto  of  the  "  Inferno,"  the  dis 
course  between  Dante  and  "Farinata  degli  Uberti " 
and  Cavalcanti,  and  the  accessories  of  the  situa 
tion,  are,  in  their  dark  sublimity,  wonderfully  like 
the  scene  of  recrimination  between  Zophiel  and 
the  fiend  in  "The  Storm,"  though  the  likeness  is 
in  the  power  and  feeling  rather  than  in  the  situa 
tion. 


XXX11  MARIA    DEL    OCCIDENTE. 

It  is  in  "The  Storm"  (fourth  canto)  that  the 
genius  of  Milton  is  matched  in  quality,  if  not  in 
scope,  and  his  Satan  is  distanced  by  the  spiritual 
majesty  of  Zophiel  and  the  "sombre  being"  who 
copes  with  him  in  the  tempest.  Here  is  no  effort 
to  impress  with  physical  loathsomeness  and  hor 
ror;  here  is  stature,  but  with  concealing  robe; 
a  sombre  presence  of  mystic  power  and  beauty, 
infused  with  evil,  and  impressive  by  the  distinc 
tively  spiritual  significance  of  the  vision.  In  the 
first  book  of  "  Paradise  Lost,"  Milton's  present 
ment  of  Satan,  though  a  grand  is  a  somewhat 
coarse  appeal  to  our  physical  perceptions  of  the 
horrible.  He  lies  upon  the  burning  flood,  serpent 
in  form,  a  coiling  bulk  of  horrors,  "  floating  many 
a  rood."  This  startles  and  oppresses.  The  im- 
pressiveness  of  spiritual  power,  when  for  evil,  lies 
in  the  obscuring  of  the  physical  bulk  and  de 
formity;  in  the  veiled  mystery  from  which  projects 
the  vague,  incalculable  dark  essence  and  malig 
nant  intent. 

In  the  eighth  book  of  "Paradise  Lost  "a  com 
mon  and  low  conception  of  love's  passion  is  sug 
gested  to  Adam  by  angelic  lips,  which  is  redeemed 
by  a  counter  utterance  of  the  same  angel  a  little 
farther  on.  But,  in  Zophiel  himself,  —  though 
fallen  from  his  angelic  state,  and  therefore  less 
perfect  than  Adam  before  his  fall, — love  has  an 


MARIA    DEL    OCCIDENTE.  XXX111 

ideally  pure  expression.  Though  he  slays  Egla's 
bridegrooms,  he  is  eager  to  dare  and  do  and  suffer 
to  the  limits  of  his  nature's  vast  endowments,  only 
for  the  sake  of  preserving  and  blessing  the  charm 
ing  being  whom  he  cannot  hope  to  embrace, — 
the  simplest,  innocent  movement  of  whose  breast 
is  watched  by  him  with  reverence.  In  book  ninth 
of  "  Paradise  Lost,"  Satan's  "  compassing  the 
earth,"  though  a  more  comprehensive  journey,  is 
told  less  impressively,  and  with  less  of  poetic 
beauty,  than  is  the  similar  but  shorter  journey  of 
Zophiel  and  Phraerion  to  the  palace  of  the  Gnome. 

After  the  conflict  between  the  spirits  in  "The 
Storm "  is  past,  Zophiel  seeks  Phraerion  in  his 
covert.  Embracing,  they  rise  into  the  air,  and, 
mantling  themselves  in  the  morning  mists,  flee 
toward  Media  to  Egla's  grove.  Beneath  them, 
as  they  pass,  two  travellers  by  the  Tigris  pause 
in  delighted  wonder  at  the  sweet  odors  which  the 
flight  of  the  unseen  spirits  has  fanned  from  many 
fields  of  flowers. 

These  travellers  are  the  youth  Helon,  and  Ha- 
riph  (the  angel  Raphael), — the  same  who,  in  the 
disguise  of  an  old  man,  foretold  her  bridegroom 
to  Egla  in  her  acacian  retreat,  and  now  in  this 
same  disguise  is  leading  Helon,  unawares,  to  his 
predestined  bride.  As  (in  the  beginning  of  the 
fifth  canto,  "  Zame'fa ")  they  converse  together, 


MARIA    DEL    OCCIDENTS. 


Helon  relates  a  dream  of  the  preceding  night, 
which  saddens  him  with  vague  longing,  in  \vhich 
he  saved  from  fearful  and  imminent  death  a  maiden 
of  celestial  grace  and  beauty.  The  incidents  of 
this  dream  are  afterward  realized  between  him  and 
Egla  in  the  sixth  canto. 

As  they  journey  on  they  come  upon  a  remark 
able  group  resting  beneath  a  projecting  rock. 
These  are  the  Princess  Zamei'a  (the  fugitive  wife 
of  white-haired,  polygamic,  pagan  Imlec),  her  slave 
Neantes,  and  a  little  Ethiop  boy.  Zamei'a  is  sleep 
ing,  drugged  by  the  compassionate  Neantes.  She 
is  portrayed  as  travel-worn  and  passion-wasted,  but 
marvellously  beautiful  still,  with  the  dark  charm 
of  Syrian  women.  While  she  sleeps,  Neantes  re 
lates  the  history  of  her  first  meeting  with  Meles 
while  making  sacrifice  at  the  fanes  of  Mylitta,  the 
Assyrian  Venus,  according  to  the  Babylonian  cus 
tom  ;  of  the  instant  and  lasting  love  she  conceived 
for  him  ;  of  their  secret  meetings  in  her  palace  by 
the  Euphrates,  where  Meles  climbs  her  garden- 
wall  by  means  of  a  ladder  woven  of  her  silken 
girdles.  There  is  all  the  tenderness,  and  pas 
sionate  self-immolation  to  love,  of  Romeo  and 
Juliet,  between  these  lovers  ;  only  that  ZameYa 
is  sincere,  while  Meles  seeks  only  himself  in  seek 
ing  her,  and  warily  takes  care  of  himself,  and  soon 
forsakes.  ZameTa,  in  despair,  wastes  almost  unto 


MARIA    DEL    OCCIDENTE.  XXXV 

death,  until  Neantes  prepares  a  letter  which  is  to 
deceive  Zamei'a  into  supposing  that  Meles  is  de 
tained  on  embassy  by  the  king,  but  will  return  by 
"the  gathering  of  the  date."  Twice  Neantes  re 
sorts  to  this  deception  in  order  to  save  her  life  and 
reason.  At  last  Zamei'a  hears  from  Imlec  the 
news  that  he  is  returning,  and  would  have  her 
prepare  to  receive  him.  Frantic  between  her 
starved,  despairing  love  for  absent  Meles  and 
her  loathing  for  the  returning  Imlec,  she,  with 
Neantes,  departs  by  night,  casting  some  of  her 
dipt  black  tresses  braided  with  jewels  into  the 
Euphrates,  that  it  may  lead  to  the  idea  of  her 
death  by  drowning. 

The  description  of  the  temple  and  rites  of 
Mylitta  is  identical  in  fact  with  the  same  related 
by  Herodotus,  Guignant,  and  others ;  but  in  the 
verse  of  "  Zophiel  "  it  is  so  refined  of  the  com 
moner  conceptions  of  such  a  rite,  and  is  invested 
with  so  much  seriousness  and  beauty  as  having  an 
impersonal  and  simply  sacrificial  significance,  that 
merely  sensual  appreciation  must  recoil  chilled 
as  from  the  pure  nakedness  of  a  statue.  The 
whole  movement  of  this  canto,  its  glow  and  form 
and  finish,  are  as  replete  with  beauty  as  the 
richest  measures  of  Byron  when  Byron's  impulse 
was  —  as  it  sometimes  was  —  noble  and  pure,  and 
is  wholly  without  the  trail  of  reckless  license  that 


XXXVI  MARIA    DEL    OCCIDENTE. 

creeps  through  some  of  his  fairest  creations.  The 
limpid  flowing  song  of  Mrs.  Browning's  "Swan's 
Nest  among  the  Reeds "  is  recalled,  not  by  any 
analogy  of  scope  or  motif ;  but  the  soft  and  vivid 
delicacy  of  feeling  and  expression  is  the  same. 

The  yet  unsubsidcd  wave  of  what  has  gone 
before,  and  the  imminence  of  the  last  crisis,  is 
immediately  felt  in  the  first  verses  of  "  The  Bridal 
of  Helon  "  (the  sixth  and  last  canto),  where  occurs 
the  ardent  complaint  which  Southey  quotes  with 
such  admiring  delight  in  "  The  Doctor." 

Egla,  in  the  soft  twilight  solitude  of  her  acacia- 
grove,  muses  as  she  tunes  her  lute,  longing  for 
ZophieTs  presence:  — 

"  Softly  heaving 

The  while  her  heart,  thus  from  its  inmost  core 
Such  feelings  gushed,  to  Lyclian  numbers  weaving, 
As  never  had  her  lip  expressed  before :  — 

SONG   OF   EGLA. 

Day  in  melting  purple  dying, 
Blossoms  all  around  me  sighing, 
Fragrance  from  the  lilies  straying, 
Zephyr  with  my  ringlets  playing, 

Ye  but  waken  my  distress  : 

I  am  sick  of  loneliness. 

Thou  to  whom  I  love  to  hearken, 
Come  ere  night  around  me  darken : 


MARIA    DEL    OCCIDENTE.  XXXVH 

Though  thy  softness  but  deceive  me, 
Say  thou'rt  true,  and  I'll  believe  thee. 

Veil,  if  ill,  thy  soul's  intent : 

Let  me  think  it  innocent ! 

Save  thy  toiling;  spare  thy  treasure: 
All  I  ask  is  friendship's  pleasure  : 
Let  the  shining  ore  lie  darkling; 
Bring  no  gem  in  lustre  sparkling; 

Gifts  and  gold  are  nought  to  me : 

I  would  only  look  on  thee  ; 

Tell  to  thee  the  high-wrought  feeling, 
Ecstasy  but  in  revealing  ; 
Paint  to  thee  the  deep  sensation, 
Rapture  in  participation, 

Yet  but  torture,  if  comprest 

In  a  lone,  unfriended  breast. 

Absent  still  ?     Ah,  come  and  bless  me  ! 

Let  these  eyes  again  caress  thee. 

Once,  in  caution,  I  could  fly  thee: 

Now  I  nothing  could  deny  thee. 
In  a  look  if  death  there  be, 
Come,  and  I  will  gaze  on  thee  ! " 

Southey  declared  this  poem  to  be  not  only 
equal,  but  superior,  to  Sappho's  famous  "  Ode  to 
Aphrodite."  There  is  in  places  a  strange  like 
ness  of  emotion  and  power  in  the  two  ardent 
adjurations.  Here  is  the  Sapphic  hymn  as  the 
New-England  poet -philosopher,  Thomas  Went- 
worth  Higginson,  gracefully  translates  it :  — 


XXXV111  MARIA    DEL    OCCIDENTS. 

"  Beautiful,  throned,  immortal  Aphrodite  ! 
Daughter  of  Zeus  !  beguiler,  I  implore  thee 
Weigh  me  not  down  with  weariness  and  anguish, 

0  thou  most  holy ! 

Come  to  me  now,  if  ever  thou  in  kindness 
Hearkenedst  my  words ;  and  often  hast  thou  hearkened, 
Heeding,  and  coming  from  the  mansions  golden 
Of  thy  great  Father, 

Yoking  thy  chariots,  borne  by  thy  most  lovely 
Consecrated  birds,  with  dusky-tinted  pinions, 
Waving  swift  wings  from  utmost  heights  of  heaven, 
Through  the  mid  ether  : 

Swiftly  they  vanished,  leaving  thee,  O  goddess ! 
Smiling,  with  face  immortal  in  its  beauty, 
Asking  what  I  suffered,  and  why  in  utter  longing 

1  had  dared  call  thee  ; 

Asking  what  I  sought  thus  hopeless  in  desiring, 
'Wildered  in  brain,  and  spreading  nets  of  passion, 
Alas  !  for  whom  ?  and  saidst  thou,  '  Who  has  harmed 

thee, 
O  my  poor  Sappho  ? 

'  Though  now  he  flies,  ere  long  he  shall  pursue  : 
Fearing  thy  gifts,  he  too,  in  turn,  shall  bring  them: 
Loveless  to-day,  to-morrow  he  shall  woo  thee, 
Though  thou  shouldst  spurn  him.' 

Thus  seek  me  now,  O  holy  Aphrodite  ! 
Save  me  from  anguish;  give  me  all  I  wish  for, — 
Gifts  at  thy  hand  ;  and  thine  shall  be  the  glory, 
Sacred  protector ! " 


MARIA    DEL    OCCIDENTE.  XXXIX 

Thus  Sappho,  praying  to  love's  source ;  while 
Egla  entreats  only  a  lover :  yet  Egla's  song  is 
tenderer  music.  Sappho  desires  gifts,  her  own 
happiness,  and  to  be  love-compelling :  Egla  seeks 
only  permission  to  completely  love  and  bless. 
Her  passion  and  its  prayer  are  diviner  than  Sap 
pho's,  and  the  song  which  breathes  them  is  a  more 
penetrating  strain,  reminding  of  the  tender  human 
woe  of  the  foreboding  Willow  Song  of  Desdemona, 
and  the  lily  maid  of  Astolat's  Song  of  Love  and 
Death. 

A  guardian  spirit,  perceiving  the  dangerous 
situation  of  Egla,  hovers  near  her  at  the  same 
moment  that  Zophiel,  just  returning  from  the 
fruitless  subterranean  journey  and  storm-conflict 
related  in  the  third  and  fourth  cantos,  approaches 
her ;  listens  in  transport  to  the  song ;  at  whose 
close,  with  tender  sighs,  she  breathes  his  name. 
At  this  moment,  when  Zophiel  is  about  to  reveal 
himself,  Zame'fa,  crazed  with  jealous  hatred  of  Egla 
on  account  of  the  desertion  and  death  of  Meles, 
darts  forward,  and  falls  dead  in  the  attempt  to  kill 
Egla. 

Forced  to  witness  at  her  very  feet  Zamei'a's 
passionate  death,  and  weary  of  the  long  scene  of 
horrors  of  which  she  is  the  innocent  cause,  Egla 
prepares  to  take  her  own  life.  Helon,  her  pre 
destined  bridegroom,  frustrates  her  design.  Their 


xl  MARIA    DEL    OCCIDENTE. 

betrothal  follows.  Zophiel,  while  this  transpires, 
is  withheld  in  the  wood  in  vain  struggle  with  the 
"dark  Being  of  the  Storm,"  but  escapes,  and 
reaches  Egla's  bridal  chamber  only  in  time  to  be 
repelled  by  the  "  insufferable  perfume  fire  "  of  the 
burning  contents  of  the  carneol  box,  given  long 
ago  to  Helon,  for  the  protection  of  this  very  hour, 
by  Hariph,  who  hurls  the  wretched  Zophiel  away, 
and  discloses  himself  to  the  bridal  pair  as  the 
angel  Raphael. 

Raphael  then  seeks  Zophiel  with  wish  and 
word  of  heavenly  pity,  consolation,  and  hope. 

The  review  of  this  poem  at  the  time  of  its 
appearance,  both  in  England  and  America,  did 
what  seemed  like  a  reluctant  sort  of  justice. 
Though  the  ocean  rolled  between  us  and  the 
mother -country,  and  though  by  every  principle 
of  government,  national  hope  and  endeavor,  we 
were  sharply  divided  from  her,  still  our  gods  in 
literature  had  been  and  were  her  gods,  —  Shak- 
speare,  Spenser,  and  Milton.  A  country  with  a 
young  civilization  and  a  young  literature,  we  did 
not  expect  and  were  not  prepared  to  meet  a  reve 
lation  of  American  genius  ranking  with  the  great 
poets  of  the  world.  Even  Mr.  Griswold,  the  per 
sonal  friend  and  admirer  of  Maria  del  Occidente, 
waited  for  the  English  verdict  before  speaking 
half  his  mind. 


MARIA    DEL    OCCIDENTE.  xli 

The  faults  found  in  "  Zophiel "  were  notably  of 
that  class  which  are  blemishes  or  charms  accord 
ing  to  the  mental  temperament  impressed.  It  was 
inevitably  subjected  to  coarse  as  well  as  to  noble 
interpretation  ;  yet  the  least  sympathetic  apprecia 
tion  acknowledged  its  greatness  and  distinctive 
originality,  while  a  certain  element  peculiar  to  a 
past  era  in  British  criticism  was  curiously  betrayed 
in  an  uncomfortable  astonishment,  a  sort  of  blank 
and  vexed  amazement,  that  so  majestic  a  strain 
could  have  risen  in  skies  that  did  not  immediately 
arch  over  Shakspeare's  isle.  "  And  all  this,"  said 
"The  London  Quarterly,"  in  closing  a  short  but 
keen  tribute  of  admiration,  "out  of  a  coffee-plan 
tation  in  Cuba ! " 

From  Maria  del  Occidente's  miscellaneous  works 
two  only  are  selected  for  this  volume,  —  "The  Ode 
to  the  Departed,"  written  to  her  son  Edgar,  and 
one  of  the  most  heroically  tender  lamentations  ever 
written  ;  and  "The  Farewell  to  Cuba,"  which  has 
the  grace  and  coloring  of  a  tropic  flower. 

In  speaking  of  "  Zophiel,"  Mr.  Griswold  says, 
"  Zophiel  seems  to  us  the  finest  fallen  angel  that 
has  come  to  us  from  the  hand  of  a  poet.  Milton's 
outcasts  from  heaven  are  utterly  depraved,  and 
abraded  of  their  glory ;  but  Zophiel  has  traces  of 
his  original  virtue  and  beauty,  and  a  lingering 
hope  of  restoration  to  the  presence  of  the  Divin- 


Xlli  MARIA    DEL   OCCIDENTE. 

ity."  He  adds,  "  There  were,  at  the  time  of  the 
publication  of  '  Zophiel '  in  Boston  (1834),  too  few 
readers  among  us  of  sufficiently  cultivated  and  in 
dependent  taste  to  appreciate  a  work  of  art  which 
time  or  accident  had  not  commended  to  the  popu 
lar  applause.  At  the  end  of  a  month,  only  about 
twenty  copies  had  been  sold ;  and,  in  a  moment  of 
disappointment,  Mrs.  Brooks  caused  the  remainder 
of  the  impression  to  be  withdrawn  from  the  mar 
ket.  This  poem  has,  therefore,  been  very  little 
read  in  this  country;  and  even  the  title  of  it  would 
have  remained  unknown  to  the  common  reader  of 
elegant  literature  but  for  occasional  allusions  to  it 
by  Southey  and  other  foreign  critics." 

Being  desirous  of  having  a  full  edition  of  her 
works,  including  "Idomen,"  published,  Mrs.  Brooks 
authorized  Mr.  Griswold  to  "  offer  gratuitously  her 
copyrights  to  an  eminent  publishing-house  for  that 
purpose.  In  the  existing  condition  of  the  cofy- 
rigJit  laws,  wliich  should  have  been  entitled  '  Acts 
for  the  Discouragement  of  a  Native  Literature? 
she  was  not  surprised  that  the  offer  was  declined, 
though  indignant  that  the  reason  assigned  should 
have  been  that  they  were  'of  too  elevated  a  char 
acter  to  sell.'  ' 

Writing  to  Mr.  Griswold  soon  afterward,  she 
observed,  "  I  do  not  think  any  thing  from  my 
humble  imagination  can  be  too  elevated,  or  elevated 


MARIA    DEL    OCCIDENTE.  xliii 

enough,  for  the  public  as  it  really  is  in  these  North- 
American  States.  ...  In  the  words  of  poor  Spurz- 
heim,  uttered  to  me  a  short  time  before  his  death 
in  Boston,  I  solace  myself  by  saying,  '  Stupidity ! 
stupidity !  the  knowledge  of  that  alone  has  saved 
me  from  misanthropy.' " 

In  1844,  about  a  year  before  her  death,  she  wrote 
to  Mr.  Griswold,  "  When  I  have  written  out  my 
'Vistas  del  Infierno'  and  one  other  short  poem,  I 
hope  to  begin  the  penning  of  the  epic  of  which 
I  have  so  often  spoken  to  you,  — '  Beatriz,  the  Be 
loved  of  Columbus  ; '  but  when  or  whether  it  will 
be  finished,  Heaven  alone  can  tell." 

In  allusion  to  this  letter,  Mr.  Griswold  says,  "  I 
have  not  learned  whether  this  poem  was  written  ; 
but,  when  I  heard  her  repeat  passages  of  it,  I 
thought  it  would  be  a  nobler  work  than  'ZophieV  ' 

At  the  time  of  her  death  (in  1845)  Mr.  Griswold 
wrote,  "  She  was  one  of  the  most  remarkable 
women  that  ever  lived.  To  great  attainments  in 
literature  she  joined  a  powerful  and  original  genius, 
and  a  character  of  singular  energy  and  individ 
uality.  Both  in  England  and  the  United  States, 
she  has  been  considered,  by  those  who  have  read 
her  writings  thoughtfully,  as  unmatched  among 
poets  of  her  sex. 

" '  Zophiel '  is  one  of  the  few  compositions  des 
tined  for  durable  fame.  It  is  one  of  the  most  origi- 


xliv  MARIA    DEL    OCCIDENTS. 

nal,  passionate,  and  harmonious  works  of  imagina 
tion  ever  conceived ;  and  there  breathes  through 
the  whole  the  vital  life  of  genius. 

"  Silently  and  surely  her  genius  will  work  its  way 
into  the  great  public  heart,  and  her  fame  grow 
with  time ;  and  I  cannot  conceive  of  the  period 
when  an  American,  reviewing  the  causes  which 
have  conduced  to  place  his  country  in  a  proud  in 
tellectual  position,  and  assisted  in  giving  to  it  the 
immortality  which  springs  from  literature,  shall 
cease  to  regard  with  peculiar  gratitude  and  admira 
tion  the  name  of  the  authoress  of  '  Zophiel.' " 

Yet  embarking  solely  upon  its  own  merits,  with 
out  herald  and  without  plaudit,  this  great  poem, 
receiving  but  a  brief  salute,  was  suffered  to  pass, 
as  a  ship  sets  sail,  into  the  mists  of  obscurity,  and, 
fading  from  sight,  to  fade  even  from  remembrance. 
But  at  last,  let  us  hope,  those  mists  are  parted,  and 
the  waters  of  her  native  shores  shall  lap,  with 
waves  of  welcome  and  sweet  loudening  recogni 
tion,  the  long-hidden  bark. 

In  a  letter  expressing  cordial  sympathy  with  my 
work,  and  great  pleasure  at  the  republication  of 
Mrs.  Brooks's  poems,  my  beloved  friend,  Mr.  John 
Greenleaf  Whittier,  says,  "When  a  young  man,  I 
read  'Zophiel,'  —  a  most  remarkable  poem, — and 
have  never  forgotten  it.  The  impassioned  song 
which  Southey  praised  so  highly  is  a  perfect  gem. 


MARIA    DEL    OCCIDENTE. 


If  '  Zophiel  '  is  published  now,  it  will  be  appreciated 
as  it  deserves  to  be." 


The  authoress  of  "  Zophiel  "  wrote  one  prose 
tale,  —  "  Idomen  ;  or,  The  Vale  of  Yumuri."  Its 
scenery  is  tropical  and  Cuban,  —  a  glowing  bit  of 
tapestry  upon  which  the  action  is  wrought  in  rich 
but  more  sombre  tints. 

Mr.  Griswold,  who  was  her  personal  friend,  and 
probably  knew  her  private  history,  declares,  "  '  Ido 
men  '  contains  little  that  is  fictitious  except  the 
names  of  the  characters.  The  account  which 
Idomen  gives  of  her  own  history  is  literally  true, 
except  in  relation  to  an  excursion  to  Niagara, 
which  occurred,  but  in  a  different  period  of  the 
author's  life.  '  Idomen '  will  possess  an  interest 
and  value  as  a  psychological  study  independent  of 
that  which  belongs  to  it  as  a  record  of  tJie  experi 
ence  of  so  eminent  a  poet." 

My  own  research  has  shown  me  that  it  is  un 
doubtedly  autobiographical,  and  in  some  sense  a 
confession  ;  and  in  this  light  it  cannot  be  read  but 
with  the  deepest  sympathy  and  reverent  interest. 
The  same  great  capacity  for  intense,  passionate 
devotion  of  love,  which  animates  her  verse,  is  re 
vealed  in  this  little  heart-history ;  and  there  is  the 
same  evidence  of  a  grandly-endowed  nature  under- 


xlvi  MARIA    DEL    OCCIDENTS. 

going  almost  complete  spiritual  deprivation  in  an 
uncongenial  companionship. 

As  a  psychological  study,  and  as  a  work  of  art, 
"Idomen"  has  a  beauty  and  separateness  such  as 
attaches  to  Allston's  "  Monaldi,"  to  Moore's  "  Epi 
curean,"  to  the  "Atala"  of  Chateaubriand,  or  to 
"Vathek,"  the  "Sorrows  of  Werther,"  and  "Paul 
and  Virginia." 


Since  the  foregoing  was  written,  I  have  had  the 
good  fortune  to  learn  further  particulars  of  the 
personal  history  of  Maria  del  Occidente,  which 
will  be  given  in  my  forthcoming  edition  of  "  Ido 
men  "  (now  in  press),  and  which  corroborate  Mr. 
Griswold's  statement  as  to  its  autobiographical 

character. 

ZADEL  BARNES   GUSTAFSON. 

FEBRUARY,  1879. 


PREFACE 

TO   THE   SECOND   AMERICAN   EDITION. 


(Published  for  the  benefit  of  the  Polish  Exiles. ) 
BOSTON:  HILLIARD,  GRAY,  &  Co.,  1834. 

IT  is  now  more  than  three  years  since  this  poem  was 
prepared  for  the  press ;  and  while  employed  about  its 
notes,  in  Paris,  during  the  winter  immediately  succeeding 
the  late  Revolution,  the  writer  conceived  a  design  of  pub 
lishing  it  as  a  slight  assistance  to  the  Polish  cause,  —  a 
cause  at  that  time  so  fashionable,  that  private  ladies  of 
rank  and  character  performed  at  public  concerts  for  the 
purpose  of  increasing  a  fund  for  the  oppressed  but  "  no 
bles  Polonais."  On  the  evening  of  the  2d  of  March, 
1831,  such  a  concert  was  attended,  and  the  tickets  sold 
for  a  napoleon  each.  Praiseworthy  as  it  was,  alas  that 
such  a  cause  should  have  required  such  assistance  ! 

Poland  fell ;  and  the  fashion  of  befriending  her,  like 
other  fashions,  soon  passed  away.  "  It  is  of  no  use,"  said 
almost  every  one,  "  to  try  and  befriend  a  country  that  is 
entirely  fallen."  But  how  can  a  country  be  no  more 
while  her  children  still  exist?  or  how  can  a  cause  be  ex 
tinct  while  those  who  engaged  in  defending  it  are  still 

xlvii 


xlviii        PREFACE    TO    THE    SECOND    EDITION. 

alive,  and  still  willing  to  struggle?  Men  there  are  who 
come  thousands  of  miles  to  an  unknown  country,  and 
endure  all  the  misery  and  scorn  that  attend  poverty  and 
dependence,  rather  than  to  join  the  armies  of  their  op 
pressors,  or  than  even  to  use  their  swords  as  mere  merce 
naries  against  nations  that  never  wronged  them. 

Whatever  may  be  the  future  fate  of  magnanimous  but 
betrayed  Poland,  many  of  her  persecuted  defenders  suffer 
for  the  necessaries  of  life  in  the  bosom  of  this  prosperous 
community.  The  feeling  awakened  by  their  arrival  has 
burned  for  a  moment.  May  it  not  pass  away  like  a  flame 
of  straw  kindled  on  a  rock  ! 

The  arrival  of  Polish  exiles  will  soon  cease  to  be  a 
novelty ;  but  it  is  melancholy  to  reflect  that  their  suffer 
ings  and  wants  must  continue.  To  be  able  to  relieve 
even  the  slightest  of  such  afflictions  will  be  sufficient 
compensation  to  the  composer  of  the  following  cantos. 

It  is  the  design  of  the  writer  to  get  out  as  many  edi 
tions,  for  the  purpose  already  said,  as  she  can  find  either 
means  or  friends  to  engage  in ;  but  how  many  that  will 
be  rests  at  present  with  the  great  Director  of  human  and 
individual  circumstance. 

It  may  be  well  to  mention  here,  that  the  labor  of  the 
publisher  is  undertaken  on  reasonable  terms.  The  present 
edition  consists  of  five  hundred  copies.  After  every  ex 
pense  is  paid,  a  balance  of  two  hundred  "and  fifty  dollars, 
or  perhaps  rather  more,  will  remain  at  the  disposal  of 
the  Polish  Committee  :  that  is,  if  all  the  copies  are  pur 
chased  ;  if  gentlemen  possessed  both  of  humanity,  and 
a  love  for  the  fine  arts,  are  willing  to  give  (either  for  the 


PREFACE    TO    THE    SECOND    EDITION.  xlix 

poem  or  the  object  of  its  publication)  the  same  small 
sum  so  often  paid  for  the  spectacle  of  a  new  melodrama, 
or  the  airs  of  a  musical  debutante. 

For  those  (and  of  such  certainly  there  are  many)  who 
are  diffident  of  their  own  opinion,  and  dislike  to  purchase 
or  even  to  read  a  book  unless  previously  and  highly  rec 
ommended,  it  may  not  be  amiss  to  observe  that  no  poeti 
cal  work  ever  written  in  the  New  World  has  received 
greater  praise  in  Europe  than  the  Oriental  story,  or  poem, 
now  presented.  In  proof  of  this  assertion,  passages  from 
popular  English  works,  as  well  as  many  private  letters,  can 
be  brought  forward  if  necessary.1 

There  was  a  time  when  every  Roman  artist  was  content 
to  rest  his  reputation  on  Grecian  taste  and  encomiums. 
Such  a  time  is  still  present  to  Americans  in  regard  to 
their  "Alma  Mater,"  at  least  so  far  as  concerns  either 
poetry,  painting,  sculpture,  architecture,  or  music. 

The  elms  and  oaks  of  liberty  and  utility  are  growing  so 
strong  and  fast  in  this  rich  land  of  corn  and  forest-trees, 
that  little  sun  or  moisture  can  be  spared  for  "  arts,  a  tribe 
of  sensitives."  When  any  aspirant  or  artist,  therefore, 
believes  himself  possessed  of  the  power  of  imitating  his 
Creator  by  giving  material  semblance  to  forms  already 
existing  in  his  own  "  world  of  ideas,"  he  generally  suc 
ceeds  in  reaching  the  other  continent,  the  land  of  his 
forefathers ;  and  on  the  approbation  obtained  in  that 


1  A  very  favorable  notice  appeared  last  autumn  (soon  after  Zophiel  appeared  in 
London)  in  Eraser's  Magazine.  A  late  work  called  The  Doctor,  reviewed  in  the 
British  Quarterly,  mentions  ZAphiel,or  the  Bride  of  Seven,  as  the  "  most  passion 
ate  and  imaginative  of  any  poem  ever  written  by  a  female." 


1  PREFACE    TO    THE    SECOND    EDITION. 

land  depends  in  a  great  degree  his  future  success  and 
reputation.  As  instances  of  this  may  be  mentioned  Ben 
jamin  West,  Greenough,  and,  indeed  (with  few  excep 
tions),  every  American  who  has  distinguished  himself 
either  by  forms  of  beauty  or  the  embodiment  of  beautiful 
conceptions. 

To  return  a  moment  to  the  poem  in  question  :  Mr. 
Southey  and  others  think  it  will  take  a  permanent  place 
among  such  English  works  as  are  thought  worth  preserv 
ing  :  if  that  should  be  the  case,  it  will  probably  owe  its 
preservation  to  the  nature  and  treatment  of  its  subject ; 
or,  in  other  words,  to  its  originality. 

Chateaubriand,  in  his  noble  poem  "  Les  Martyrs,"  has 
introduced  angels  as  presiding  over  the  various  passions 
of  his  enchanting  mortals  ;  but,  in  English,  Milton,  Byron, 
and  Moore  are,  it  is  believed,  all  who  have  attempted  to 
depict  those  sometimes  erring  yet  celestial  messengers 
as  existing  in  friendly  intercourse  with  beings  of  earth. 
From  neither  of  these  masters  is  "  Zophiel "  a  copy. 

MARIA   GOWEN   BROOKS. 


ADVERTISEMENT    AND    NOTE. 


ADVERTISEMENT. 

ANY  member  of  the  Polish  Committee,  or  competent 
agent  for  the  relief  of  suffering  Polish  exiles,  can  see  the 
exact  amount  of  the  expenses  of  publication  from  an 
estimate  made  by  Messrs.  Milliard,  Gray,  &  Co. ;  and, 
provided  such  an  agent  will  dispose  of  any  specified 
number  of  volumes,  he  can  retain  an  overplus  of  at  least 
half  he  receives  for  the  immediate  relief  of  such  as  it  is 
intended  to  benefit. 


NOTE   TO   THE   SECOND   EDITION. 

IT  was  thought  by  a  friend  of  the  Polish  sufferers,  who 
was  so  good  as  to  interest  himself  in  the  publication  of 
this  work,  that  some  religious  persons  might  object  to  the 
following  stanza,  which  occurs  near  the  beginning  of  the 
first  canto  :  — 

"  Blest  were  those  days  !     Can  these  dull  ages  boast 

Aught  to  compare  ?     Though  now  no  more  beguile, 
Chained  in  their  darkling  depths,  the  infernal  host, 

Who  would  not  brave  a  fiend  to  share  an  angel's  smile  ? 

The  reader  is  requested  to  consider  these  lines  as 
merely  the  expression  of  a  passing  emotion,  occasioned 
by  a  sudden  thought  of  the  exquisite  pleasure  that  must 
be  felt  in  looking,  if  it  were  possible,  at  a  creature  entirely 
superior  to  mortals,  and  coming  from  the  abodes  of  per 
fection.  M.  G.  B. 


PREFACE. 


IN  finishing  "Z6phiel,"  the  writer  has  endeavored  to 
adhere  entirely  to  that  belief  (once  prevalent  among  the 
fathers  of  the  Greek  and  Roman  churches)  which  sup 
poses  that  the  oracles  of  antiquity  were  delivered  by 
demons  or  fallen  angels,  who  wandered  about  the  earth, 
formed  attachments  to  such  mortals  as  pleased  them  best, 
and  caused  themselves,  in  many  places,  to  be  adored  as 
divinities. 

In  endeavoring  to  give  authority  for  the  incidents  of 
the  story,  all  "quotations  from  the  sacred  writings  have 
been  scrupulously  avoided ;  and  the  beings  introduced 
are  to  be  considered  only  as  Phoebus,  Zephyr,  &c.,  under 
other  names. 

Most  of  the  systems  of  ancient  philosophy,  either  West 
ern  or  Oriental,  suppose  beings  similar  to  the  angels  of 
the  fathers,  and  differ  from  the  Mosaic  account  only  in 
being  more  full  and  explicit.  Justin  Martyr  and  others 
supposed  that  even  Homer  borrowed  from  Hebraic  rec 
ords  and  traditions,  and  found  in  his  writings  the  creation 
of  the  world,  the  Tower  of  Babel,  and  the  angels  cast  out 
of  heaven.  Hesiod's  beautiful  allegory  of  "  Love  calling 

liii 


Hv  PREFACE. 

order  from  chaos  " l  may,  it  is  said,  be  traced  to  the  same 
source. 

The  fact  of  the  actual  existence  of  such  beings  as  an 
gels,  it  is  for  others  to  question  :  according  to  all  that  is 
related  of  them,  they  are  creatures  superior  in  power,  but 
endued  with  wishes  and  propensities  nearly  resembling 
those  of  mortals  ;  and,  in  their  attributes,  corresponding 
almost  entirely  with  those  deities  which  they  are  thought 
by  the  fathers  to  have  personated,  and  which  have  ever 

been  a  subject  for  poetry  and  fable. 

M.  G.  U. 

1  Vide  Brucker's  Historia  Philosophise. 


TO 


ROBERT   SOUTHEY,    ESQ. 


O  LAURELLED  bard  !  how  can  I  part, 
Those  cheering  smiles  no  more  to  see, 

Until  my  soothed  and  solaced  heart 
Pours  forth  one  grateful  lay  to  thee  ? 

Fair  virtue  tuned  thy  youthful  breath, 
And  peace  and  pleasure  bless  thee  now ; 

For  love  and  beauty  guard  the  wreath 
That  blooms  upon  thy  manly  brow. 

The  Indian  leaning  on  his  bow, 

On  hostile  cliff,  in  desert  drear, 
Cast  with  less  joy  his  glance  below 

When  came  some  friendly  warrior  near ; 

The  native  dove  of  that  warm  isle 

Where  oft  with  flowers  my  lyre  was  drest, 

Sees  with  less  joy  the  sun  a  while 

When  vertic  rains  have  drenched  her  nest,' 


Ivi  TO    ROBERT    SOUTHEY,    ESQ. 

Than  I,  a  stranger,  first  beheld 

Thine  eye's  harmonious  welcome  given 

With  gentle  word,  which,  as  it  swelled, 
Came  to  my  heart  benign  as  heaven. 

Soft  be  thy  sleep  as  mists  that  rest 
On  Skiddaw's  top  at  summer  morn  ! 

Smooth  be  thy  days  as  Derwent's  breast 
When  summer  light  is  almost  gone  ! 

And  yet  for  thee  why  breathe  a  prayer? 

I  deem  thy  fate  is  given  in  trust 
To  seraphs,  who  by  daily  care 

Would  prove  that  Heaven  is  not  unjust. 

And  treasured  shall  thine  image  be 

In  memory's  purest,  holiest  shrine, 
While  truth  and  honor  glow  in  thee, 

Or  life's  warm  quivering  pulse  is  mine. 

MARIA   GOWEN    BROOKS. 
KESWICK,  April  18,  1831. 


SONNET 

TO  THE   MEMORY   OF 

MARIA    DEL    OCCIDENTE. 

BY  THE  AUTHOR  OF  "  ORION." 


WE  gaze  into  blue  depths  of  Western  skies, 
Where  Cuba  sleeps  'neath  stars  and  starlike  suns : 
The  splendor  brims  and  overfills  our  eyes, 
Till  earth's  dark  sandglass  stops,  or  scarcely  runs. 
We  note,  amidst  the  host,  one  special  light : 
Our  thoughts  then  melt  toward  the  eternal  Giver 
Of  pure  infinitude  to  mortal  sight : 
We  look  again  ;  that  light  is  gone  forever  ! 
Where  hath  it  gone  ?  where  hath  its  glory  fled  ? 
Is  the  world  struck  with  blindness,  or  with  error  ? 
Who  saw  it  as  we  saw  it  ?  what  delight  or  terror 
Can  picture  its  bright  throne  among  the  dead  ? 
Alas  for  that  soul's  fire  !  —  lost,  shot  astray, 
Leaving  few  records  in  our  night  or  day  ! 

RICHARD   HENGIST   HORNE. 
SEPT.  12,  1872. 

Ivii 


ZOPHIEL; 


OR, 


THE     BRIDE     OF     SEVEN." 


CANTO    FIRST. 


GROVE   OF  ACACIAS. 


ZOPHIEL. 


GROVE  OF  ACACIAS. 


SHADE  of  Columbus  !  here  thy  relics  rest ; 

Here,  while  these  numbers  to  the  desert  ring, 
The  selfsame  breeze  that  passes  o'er  thy  breast 

Salutes  me  as  with  panting  heart  I  sing. 


Madoc  !  my  ancient  fathers'  bones  repose 

Where  their  bold  harps  thy  country's  bards  inwreathed  ; 
And  this  warm  blood  once  coursed  the  veins  of  those 

Who  flourished  where  thy  first  faint  sigh  was  breathed. 

in. 

Heroes  departed  both  !  if  still  ye  love 

These  realms  to  which  on  earth  ye  oped  the  way, 

Amid  the  joys  that  crown  your  deeds  above 
One  moment  pause,  and  deign  to  bless  my  lay. 

3 


ZOPHIEL. 


Spirits  who  hovered  o'er  Euphrates'  stream 
When  the  first  beauteous  mother  of  our  race 

First  oped  her  mild  eyes  to  the  new  light-beam, 
And  in  the  lucid  wave  first  saw  her  own  fair  fa-:e, 

Did  then  yon  ocean  in  its  bosom  press 
These  western  solitudes  ?  or  are  they  new 

Only  to  men  ?     Was  this  sweet  wilderness, 
This  distant  world,  then  visited  by  you  ? 


If  ye  then  knew,  or  haply  if  ye  here 

Come  wandering  now,  oh,  listen  !  nor  refuse 

Your  unseen  harps  a  moment  to  my  ear. 

Of  one  like  you  I'd  sing  :  whisper  my  trembling  Muse  ! 

VI. 

Rest  in  my  wild  retreat !     The  solar  fires 

Tell  on  this  glowing  cheek  their  fervid  powers ; 

Yet  'tis  the  ocean's  breath  my  lip  respires, 

Grown  fragrant  in  its  course  o'er  thousand  shrubs  and 
flowers. 

VII. 

The  time  has  been  —  this  holiest  records  tell  — 
When  restless  spirits  raised  a  war  in  heaven. 

Great  was  the  crime  ;  and,  banished  thence,  they  fell 
To  depths  unknown,  yet  kept  the  potence,  given 


GROVE    OF    ACACIAS.  5 

For  nobler  use,  to  tempt  the  hapless  race 

Of  feeble  mortals,  who  but  form  a  grade 
Twixt  spirits  and  the  courser  of  the  chase. 

Man,  thing  of  heaven  and  earth,  why  thou  wert  made 

Ev'n  spirits  knew  not ;  yet  they  loved  to  sport 
With  thy  mysterious  mind,  and  lent  their  powers 

The  good  to  benefit,  the  ill  to  hurt. 

Dark  fiends  assailed  thee  in  thy  dangerous  hours ; 

But  better  angels  thy  far  perils  eyed, 

And  often,  when  in  heaven  they  might  have  staid, 
Came  down  to  watch  by  some  just  hero's  side, 

Or  meet  the  aspiring  love  of  some  high-gifted  maid. 

VIII. 

Blest  were  those  days  !  Can  these  dull  ages  boast 
Aught  to  compare  ?  Though  now  no  more  beguile, 

Chained  in  their  darkling  depths,  the  infernal  host, 

Who  would  not  brave  a  fiend  to  share  an  angel's  smile  ? 

IX. 

'Twas  then  there  lived  a  captive  Hebrew  pair. 

In  woe  the  embraces  of  their  youth  had  past, 
And  blest  their  paler  years  one  daughter  :  fair 

She  flourished,  like  a  lonely  rose,  the  last 

And  loveliest  of  her  line.     The  tear  of  joy, 
The  early  love  of  song,  the  sigh  that  broke 

From  her  young  lip,  the  best  beloved  employ, 
What  womanhood  disclosed,  in  infancy  bespoke 


ZOPHIEL. 


X. 


A  child  of  passion  ;  tenderest  and  best 

Of  all  that  heart  has  inly  loved  and  felt 
Adorned  the  fair  enclosure  of  her  breast : 

Where  passion  is  not  found,  no  virtue  ever  dwelt. 

XI. 

Yet,  not  perverted,  would  my  words  imply 
The  impulse  given  by  heaven's  great  Artisan, 

Alike  to  man  and  worm,  mere  spring,  whereby 

The  distant  wheels  of  life,  while  time  endures,  roll  on, 

But  the  collective  attributes  that  fill 

About  the  soul  their  all-important  place  ; 

That  feed  her  fires,  empower  her  fainting  will, 
And  write  the  God  on  feeble  mortal's  face. 

XII. 

Yet  anger  or  revenge,  envy  or  hate, 

The  damsel  knew  not :  when  her  bosom  burned, 
And  injury  darkened  the  decrees  of  fate, 

She  had  more  piteous  sighed  to  see  that  pain  returned. 

XIII. 

Or  if  perchance,  though  formed  most  just  and  pure, 

Amid  their  virtue's  wild  luxuriance  hid, 
Such  germs  all  mortal  bosoms  must  immure, 

Which  sometimes  show  their  poisonous  heads  unbid,  — 


GROVE    OF    ACACIAS. 


Tf  haply  such  the  fair  Judean  finds, 

Self-knowledge  wept  the  abasing  truth  to  know ; 
And  innate  pride,  that  queen  of  noble  minds, 

Crushed  them  indignant  ere  a  bud  could  grow. 


XIV. 

And  such,  even  now,  in  earliest  youth  are  seen ; 

But  would  they  live,  with  armor  more  deform 
Their  breasts  made  soft  by  too  much  loye  must  screen  : 

"The  bird  that   sweetest  sings   can  least  endure    the 
storm." 

xv. 

And  yet,  despite  of  all,  the  starting  tear, 

The  melting  tone,  the  blood  suffusive,  proved 

The  soul  that  in  them  spoke  could  spurn  at  fear 
Of  death  or  danger ;  and,  had  those  she  loved 

Required  it  at  their  need,  she  could  have  stood 
Unmoved  as  some  fair-sculptured  statue,  while 

The  dome  that  guards  it  earth's  convulsions  rude 
Are  shivering,  meeting  ruin  with  a  smile. 


XVI. 

And  this  at  intervals,  in  language  bright, 

Told  her  blue  eyes  ;  though  oft  the  tender  lid 

Drooped  like  a  noonday  lily,  languid,  white, 
And  trembling,  all  save  love  and  lustre,  hid  : 


8  ZOPHIEL. 

Then,  as  young  Christian  bard  had  sung,  they  seemed 
Like  some  Madonna  in  his  soul,  so  sainted ; 

But,  opening  in  their  energy,  they  beamed 
As  tasteful  Grecians  their  Minerva  painted  : 

While  o'er  her  graceful  shoulders'  milky  swell, 

Silky  as  those  on  little  children  seen, 
Yet  thick  as  Indian  fleece,  her  ringlets  fell, 

Nor  owned  Pactolus'  sands  a  brighter  sheen. 

XVII. 

And  now,  full  near,  the  hour  unwished  for  drew, 
When  Sephora  had  hoped  to  see  her  wed, 

And,  for  'twould  else  expire,  impatient  grew 

To  renovate  her  race  from  beauteous  Egla's  bed. 

XVIII. 

None  of  their  kindred  lived  to  claim  her  hand ; 

But  stranger-youths  had  asked  her  of  her  sire 
With  gifts  and  promise  fair.     He  could  withstand 

All  save  her  tears  ;  and,  hearkening  her  desire, 

Still  left  her  free  :  but  soon  her  mother  drew 
From  her  a  vow,  that,  when  the  twentieth  year 

Its  full  fair  finish  o'er  her  beauty  threw, 
If  what  her  fancy  fed  on  came  not  near, 

She  would  entreat  no  more,  but  to  the  voice 
Of  her  light-giver  hearken  ;  and  her  life 


GROVE    OF    ACACIAS. 


And  love,  all  yielding  to  that  kindly  choice, 

Would  hush  each  idle  wish,  and  learn  to  be  a  wife. 

XIX. 

Now  oft  it  happed,  when  morning  task  was  done, 
And  lotted  out  for  every  household  maid 

Her  light  and  pleasant  toil,  ere  yet  the  sun 
Was  high,  fair  Egla  to  a  woody  shade 

Loved  to  retire.     Acacias  here  inclined 

Their  friendly  heads,  in  thick  profusion  planted, 

And  with  a  thousand  tendrils  clasped  and  twined ; 
And  when,  at  fervid  noon,  all  nature  panted, 

Inwoven  with  their  boughs,  a  fragrant  bower, 

Inviting  rest,  its  mossy  pillow  flung  ; 
And  here  the  full  cerulean  passion-flower, 

Climbing  among  the  leaves,  its  mystic  symbols  hung. 

xx. 

And  though  the  sun  had  gained  his  utmost  height, 

Just  as  he  oped  its  vivid  folds  at  dawn, 
Looked  still  that  tenderest,  frailest  child  of  light, 

By  shepherds  named  "  the  glory  of  the  morn." 

XXI. 

Sweet  flower  !  thou'rt  lovelier  even  than  the  rose  : 
The  rose  is  pleasure,  —  felt  and  known  as  such  ; 

Soon  past,  but  real ;  tasted  while  it  glows  : 

But  thou,  too  bright  and  pure  for  mortal  touch, 


IO  Z6PHIEL. 

Art  like  those  brilliant  things  we  never  taste 

Or  see,  unless  with  Fancy's  lip  and  eye, 
When,  maddened  by  her  mystic  spells,  we  waste 

Life  on  a  thought,  and  rob  reality. 

XXII. 

Here,  too,  the  lily  raised  its  snow-white  head  ; 

And  myrtle-leaves,  like  friendship  when  sincere, 
Most  sweet  when  wounded,  nil  around  were  spread  ; 
And,  though  from  noon's  fierce  heat  the  wild  deer  fled, 

A  soft  warm  twilight  reigned  impervious  here. 

XXIII. 

Tranquil  and  lone  in  such  a  light  to  be, 

How  sweet  to  sense  and  soul  !  the  form  recline 

Forgets  it  e'er  felt  pain  ;  and  Reverie, 

Sweet  mother  of  the  Muses,  heart  and  soul  are  thine  ! 

xxrv. 

This  calm  retreat  one  summer  day  she  sought, 
And  sat  to  tune  her  lute  :  but  all  night  long 

Quiet  had  from  her  pillow  flown  ;  and  thought, 
Feverish  and  tired,  sent  forth  unseemly  throng 

Of  boding  images.     She  scarce  could  woo 
One  song  reluctant,  ere,  advancing  quick 

Through  the  fresh  leaves,  Sephora's  form  she  knew, 
And  duteous  rose  to  meet ;  but  fainting,  sick, 


GROVE    OF    ACACIAS.  I  I 

Her  heart  sank  tremulously  in  her.     Why 
Sought  out  at  such  an  hour,  it  half  divined ; 

And  seated  now  beside,  with  downcast  eye 

And  throbbing  pulse,  she  met  the  pressure  kind, 

And  warmly  given  :  while  thus  the  matron,  fair, 

Though  marred  by  grief  and  time,  with  soothing  word, 

Solicitous,  and  gently  serious  air, 

The  purpose  why  she  hither  came  preferred. 

XXV. 

"  Egla,  my  hopes  thou  knowest,  though  exprest 
Not  oft,  lest  they  should  pain  thee.     I  have  dealt 

Not  rudely  with  thy  fancies,  yet  my  breast 
Retains  the  wish  most  vehemently  felt. 

"  Know,  I  have  marked  that  when  the  reason  why 
Thou  still  wculdst  live  in  virgin  state  thy  sire 

Has  prest  thee  to  impart,  quick  in  thine  eye 

Semblance  of  hope  has  played ;  fain  to  transpire, 

"  Words  seemed  to  seek  thy  lip  ;  but  the  bright  rush 
Of  heart-blood  eloquent  alone  would  tell, 

In  the  warm  language  of  a  rebel  blush, 
What  thy  less  treacherous  tongue  had  guarded  well. 

XXVI. 

"  Is  the  long  frequent  day  spent  lonely  here  ? 
Or  haply,  rather,  hath  some  stranger  youth  — 


12  ZOPHIEL. 

Then,  Egla,  see  my  heart !  "  —  "  O  mother  dear  ! 
Distrust  my  wisdom,  but  regard  my  truth. 

XXVII. 

"  Long  time  ago,  while  yet  a  twelve-years'  child, 
These  shrubs  and  vines  new-planted  near  this  spot, 

I  sat  me,  tired  with  pleasant  toil,  and  whiled 
Away  the  time  with  lute,  and  often  thought 

"  Of  the  lost  land  thou  lovest :  every  scene 

Which  thou  so  oft,  when  I  had  climbed  thy  knee, 

Wouldst  sing  of,  weeping,  through  my  mind  had  been 
In  fair  succession ;  when  from  yon  old  tree 

"  I  heard  a  piteous  moan.     Wondering,  I  went 
And  found  an  aged  man  :  worn  and  oppressed 

He  seemed  with  toil,  and  said,  in  whispers  faint, 
'O  little  maiden,  how  I  am  distressed  ! 

"  '  I  sink  for  very  want.     Give  me,  I  pray, 

A  drop  of  water  and  a  cake  :  I  die 
Of  thirst  and  hunger ;  yet  my  sorrowing  way 

May  tread  once  more,  if  thou  my  need  supply.' 

XXVIII. 

"  A  long  time  missing  from  thy  gentle  arms, 
It  chanced  that  day  was  sent  me,  in  the  shade, 

New  bread,  a  cake  of  figs,  and  wine  of  palms. 
Mingled  with  water,  sweet  with  honey  made. 


GROVE    OF    ACACIAS.  13 


XXIX. 


'  These  brought  I  to  him  ;  tried  to  raise  his  head ; 

Held  to  his  lip  the  cup ;  and,  while  he  quaffed, 
Upon  my  garment  wiped  the  tears  that  sped 

Adown  his  silvery  beard,  and  mingled  with  the  draught. 


XXX. 

"  When,  gaining  sudden  strength,  he  raised  his  hand, 
And  in  this  guise  did  bless  me  :  '  Mayst  thou  be 

A  crown  to  him  who  weds  thee  !     In  a  land 
Far  distant  dwells  a  captive.     Hearken  me, 

"  '  And  choose  thee  now  a  bridegroom  meet.     To-day 
O'er  broad  Euphrates'  steepest  banks  a  child 

Fled  from  his  youthful  nurse's  arms  :  in  play 
Elate  he  bent  him  o'er  the  brink,  and  smiled 

"  '  To  see  their  fears  who  followed  him.     But  who 
The  keen,  wild  anguish  of  that  scene  can  tell? 

He  bent  him  o'er  the  brink,  and  in  their  view, 
But  ah  !  too  far  beyond  their  aid,  he  fell. 


XXXI. 

" '  They  wailed  ;  the  long  torn  ringlets  of  their  hair 
Bestrewed  the  ambient  gale ;  deep  rolled  the  stream, 

And  swallowed  the  fair  child  :  no  succor  there  ! 
They,  women,  —  whither  look  ?  —  who  to  redeem 


14  z6pniEL. 

"  '  What  the  fierce  waves  were  preying  on  ?     When,  lo  ! 

Approached  a  stranger  boy.     Aside  he  flung, 
Quick  as  a  thought,  his  quiver  and  his  bow ; 

And,  parted  by  his  limbs,  the  sparkling  billows  sung. 

XXXII. 

"  '  They  clung  to  an  old  palm  and  watched,  nor  breath 
Nor  word  dared  utter ;  while  the  refluent  blood 

Left  on  each  countenance  the  hue  of  death ; 

Oped  lip  and  far-strained  eye  spoke  worse  than  death 
endured. 

XXXIII. 

" '  But  down  the  flood  the  dauntless  boy  appeared, 
Now  rising,  plunging,  in  the  eddy  whirled, 

Mastering  his  course  ;  but  now  a  rock  he  neared, 

And,  closing  o'er  his  head,  the  dark,  deep  waters  curled. 

xxxiv. 

" '  Then  Hope  groaned  forth  her  last,  and  to  despair 
Yielded  with  shrieks ;  but  ere  the  echo  wild 

Had  ceased  to  thrill,  restored  to  light  and  air, 

He  climbs,  he  gains  the  rock,  and  holds  alive  the  child  ! 

XXXV. 

"  '  Now  mark  what  chanced  !     That  infant  was  the  son 
Of  Babylonia's  sovereign  :  soon  was  placed 

Before  his  throne  the  youth  who  so  had  won 
From  death  the  royal  heir.     A  captive  graced 


GROVE    OF    ACACIAS.  15 

"  '  All  o'er  with  nature's  gifts  just  dawning,  brave, 
And  panting  for  renown,  blushing  and  praised, 

The  stripling  stood,  and,  closely  pressed,  would  crave 
Nought  but  a  place  mid  warlike  men  :  yet  raised 

"  '  To  his  full  wish,  the  kingly  presence  leaving, 

So  light  with  airy  hope,  his  graceful  feet 
Scarce  touched  the  marble  as  he  trod ;  while,  heaving 

With  plans  to  please  his  sire,  his  heart  more  warmly 
beat. 

xxxvi. 

" '  But,  when  his  mother  heard,  she  wept,  and  said, 

"  If  he,  our  only  child,  be  far  away, 
Or  slain  in  war,  how  shall  our  years  be  stayed? 

Friendless  and  old,  where  is  the  hand  to  lay 

"  '  "  Our  white  hairs  in  the  earth?  "     So,  when  her  fears 
lie  saw  would  not  be  calmed,  he  did  not  part, 

But  lived  in  low  estate  to  dry  her  tears, 

And  crushed  the  full  ripe  wish  at  his  exulting  heart.' 


XXXVII. 

"  The  old  man  ceased  :  ere  I  could  speak,  his  face 
Grew  more  than  mortal  fair  ;  a  mellow  light, 

Mantling  around  him,  filled  the  shady  place  ; 

And,  while  I  wondering  stood,  he  vanished  from  my 
sight. 


1 6  ZOPHIEL. 

XXXVIII. 

"  This  I  had  told  ;  but  shame  withheld,  and  fear 
Thou'dst  deem  some  spirit  guiled  me,  —  disapprove, 

Perchance  forbid  my  customed  wandering  here. 
But,  whenceso'er  the  vision,  I  have  strove 

"  Still  vainly  to  forget.  I've  heard  thee  mourn 
Kindred  afar,  and  captive  :  oh  !  my  mother, 

Should  he,  my  heaven  announced,  exist,  return, 
And  meet  me  here,  lost !  —  wedded  to  another  !  " 

XXXIX. 

Then  Sephora  answered,  "  In  the  city  where 

Our  distant  kindred  dwell,  blood  has  been  shed. 

Fond  dreamer,  had  thy  visioned  love  been  there, 
Ere  now  he's  sleeping  with  the  silent  dead. 

XL. 

"  Or  doth  he  live,  he  knows  not,  would  not  know, 
(Thralled,  dead  to  thee,  in  some  fair  Syrian's  arms,) 

Who  pines  for  him  afar  in  fruitless  woe, 

And  wastes  upon  a  thought-love  life  and  charms. 

XLI. 

"  'Tis  as  a  vine  of  Galilee  should  say, 

'  Culterer,  I  reck  not  thy  support :   I  sigh 

For  a  young  palm-tree  of  Euphrates  ;  nay, 
Or  let  me  him  intwine,  or  in  my  blossom  die.' 


GROVE    OF    ACACIAS.  I/ 


XLII. 


"  Thy  heart  is  set  on  joys  it  ne'er  can  prove, 
And,  panting  ingrate,  scorns  the  blessings  given. 

Hope  not  from  dust-formed  man  a  seraph's  love, 
Or  days  on  earth  like  to  the  days  of  heaven  ! 


XLIII. 

"  But  to  my  theme.  Maiden,  a  lord  for  thee, 
And  not  of  thee  unworthy,  lives  and  glows. 

Nay,  chase  the  dread  that  in  thy  looks  I  see, 
Nor  make  it  taste  of  anguish  to  disclose 

"  What  well  might  be  delight.     Rememberest  thon, 
When  to  the  altar  by  thy  father  reared, 

As  we  went  forth  with  sacrifice  and  vow, 
A  victim-dove  escaped,  and  there  appeared 

"  A  stranger?  Quickly  from  his  shrilly  string 
He  let  an  arrow  glance  ;  and  to  a  tree 

Nailed  fast  the  little  truant  by  the  wing, 

And  brought  it,  scarcely  bleeding,  back  to  thee. 


XLIV. 

"  His  voice,  his  mien,  the  lustre  of  his  eye, 

And  pretty  deed  he  had  done,  were  theme  of  praise, 

Though  blent  with  fear  that  stranger  should  espy 
Thy  lonely  haunts.     When  in  the  sunny  rays 


I  8  Z6PHIEL. 

"  He  turned  and  went,  with  black  locks  clustering  bright 
Around  his  pillar  neck,  —  '  'Tis  pity  he,' 

Thou  saidst,  '  in  all  the  comeliness  and  might 
Of  perfect  man,  —  'tis  pity  he  should  be 

"  '  But  an  idolater  !     How  nobly  sweet 

He  tempers  pride  with  courtesy  !     A  flower 

Drops  honey  when  he  speaks.     His  sandalled  feet 
Are  light  as  antelope.     He  stands  a  tower.' 

XLV. 

"  That  very  stranger  sought  thy  sire,  and  swore, 
For  the  much  love  that  day  conceived  for  thee, 

To  be  a  false  idolater  no  more. 

'Tis  Meles,  late  returned  from  embassy 

"  To  distant  courts,  and  loved  by  the  young  King 

Of  Media.      Bethink  thee,  Egla  :  muse 
Upon  the  good,  union  like  this  may  bring 

On  thee  and  thine.     Yet,  if  thy  soul  refuse, 

"  We  will  not  press  thee.     Weep,  if 't  be  thy  will, 
Even  on  the  breast  that  nourished  thee,  and  ne'er 

Distrest  thee  or  compelled  :  this  bosom  still, 

E'en  shouldst  thou  blight  its  dearest  hopes,  will  share, 

"  Nay,  bear,  thy  pains.     But  sooner  in  the  grave 
Twill  quench  my  waning  years,  if  reckless  thou 

Of  what  I  not  command,  but  only  crave, 
Canst  see  me  pine,  and  disregard  thy  vow." 


GROVE  OF  ACACIAS.  IQ 

XLVI. 

Then  Egla  :  "  Think  not,  kindest,  I  forget, 

Who  have  received  such  love,  how  much  is  due 
From  me  to  thee.     The  Mede  I'll  wed  ;  but  yet  — 
Why  will  these  tears  gush  forth  ?  —  thus  —  in  thy  pres 
ence  too  !  " 

XLVII. 

Sephora  held  her  to  her  heart  the  while 

Grief  had  its  way  ;  then  saw  her  gently  laid, 

And  bade  her,  kissing  her  blue  eyes,  beguile 
Slumbering  the  fervid  noon.     Her  leafy  bed 

Breathed  forth  o'erpowering  sighs  ;  increased  the  heat ; 

Sleepless  had  been  the  night.     Her  weary  sense 
Could  now  no  more.     Lone  in  the  still  retreat, 

Wounding  the  flowers  to  sweetness  more  intense, 

She  sank.     Thus  kindly  Nature  lets  our  woe 

Swell  till  it  bursts  forth  from  the  o'erfraught  breast, 

Then  draws  an  opiate  from  the  bitter  flow, 

And  lays  her  sorrowing  child  soft  in  the  lap  of  rest. 

XLVIII. 

Now  all  the  mortal  maid  lies  indolent, 

Save  one  sweet  cheek,  —  which  the  cool  velvet  turf 
Had  touched  too  rude,  though  all  with  blooms  besprent, 

One  soft  arm  pillowed.     Whiter  than  the  surf 

That  foams  against  the  sea-rock  looked  her  neck 
By  the  dark,  glossy,  odorous  shrubs  relieved, 


2O  Z6PHIEL. 

That,  close  inclining  o'er  her,  seemed  to  reck 
What  'twas  they  canopied ;  and  quickly  heaved, 

Beneath  her  robe's  white  folds  and  azure  zone, 
Her  heart  yet  incomposed  ;  a  fillet  through 

Peeped  softly  azure  ;  while  with  tender  moan, 
As  if  of  bliss,  Zephyr  her  ringlets  blew 

Sportive  :  about  her  neck  their  gold  he  twined  j 
Kissed  the  soft  violet  on  her  temples  warm, 

And  eyebrow  just  so  dark  might  well  define 
Its  flexile  arch,  throne  of  expression's  charm. 

XLIX. 

As  the  vexed  Caspian,  though  its  rage  be  past, 
And  the  blue  smiling  heavens  swell  o'er  in  peace, 

Shook  to  the  centre  by  the  recent  blast, 

Heaves  on  tumultuous  still,  and  hath  not  power  to  cease  ; 

So  still  each  little  pulse  was  seen  to  throb, 

Though  passion  and  its  pain  were  lulled  to  rest ; 

And  ever  and  anon  a  piteous  sob 

Shook  the  pure  arch  expansive  o'er  her  breast. 


Save  that,  a  perfect  peace  was  sovereign  there 
O'er  fragrance,  sound,  and  beauty  ;  all  was  mute  : 

Only  a  dove  bemoaned  her  absent  fere, 

Or  fainting  breezes  swept  the  slumberer's  lute. 


GROVE    OF    ACACIAS.  21 

LI. 

It  chanced  that  day,  lured  by  the  verdure,  came 

Zdphiel,  a  spirit  sometimes  ill,  but,  ere 
He  fell,  a  heavenly  angel.     The  faint  flame 

Of  dying  embers  on  an  altar  where 

Zorah,  fair  Egla's  sire,  in  secret  bowed 

And  sacrificed  to  the  great  unseen  God, 
While  friendly  shades  the  sacred  rites  enshroud, 

The  spirit  saw.     His  inmost  soul  was  awed, 

And  he  bethought  him  of  the  forfeit  joys 

Once  his  in  heaven.     Deep  in  a  darkling  grot 

He  sat  him  down,  the  melancholy  noise 

Of  leaf  and  creeping  vine  accordant  with  his  thought. 


When  fiercer  spirits  howled,  he  but  complained 
Ere  yet  'twas  his  to  roam  the  pleasant  earth. 

His  heaven-invented  harp  he  still  retained, 

Though  tuned  to  bliss  no  more,  and  had  its  birth 

Of  him,  beneath  some  black,  infernal  clift, 

The  first  drear  song  of  woe  ;  and  torment  wrung 

The  restless  spirit  less  when  he  might  lift 

His  plaining  voice,  and  frame  the  like  as  now  he  sung. 

LIII. 

"  Woe  to  thce,  wild  ambition  !  I  employ 
Despair's  low  notes  thy  dread  effects  to  tell : 


22  Z6PII1EL. 

Born  in  high  heaven,  her  peace  thou  couldst  destroy ; 
And,  but  for  thee,  there  had  not  been  a  hell ! 

"  Through  the  celestial  domes  thy  clarion  pealed  : 
Angels,  entranced,  beneath  thy  banners  ranged, 

And  straight  were  fiends;  hurled  from  the  shrinking  field, 
They  waked  in  agony  to  wail  the  change. 

"  Darting  through  all  her  veins  the  subtle  fire, 
The  world's  fair  mistress  first  inhaled  thy  breath ; 

To  lot  of  higher  beings  learnt  to  aspire, 

Dared  to  attempt,  and  doomed  the  world  to  death. 

"  The  thousand  wild  desires  that  still  torment 

The  fiercely  struggling  soul  where  peace  once  dwelt, 

But  perished  ;  feverish  hope  ;  drear  discontent, 
Impoisoning  all  possest,  —  oh  !  I  have  felt 

"  As  spirits  feel :  yet  not  for  man  we  mourn  : 
Scarce  o'er  the  silly  bird  in  state  were  he 

That  builds  his  nest,  loves,  sings  the  morn's  return, 
And  sleeps  at  evening.     Save  by  aid  of  thee, 

"  Fame  ne'er  had  roused,  nor  Song  her  records  kept  ; 

The  gem,  the  ore,  the  marble  breathing  life, 
The  pencil's  colors,  all  in  earth  had  slept : 

Now  see  them  mark  with  death  his  victim's  strife  ! 

"  Man  found  thee,  Death  :  but  Death  and  dull  decay 
Baffling,  by  aid  of  thee,  his  mastery  proves ; 


GROVE    OF    ACACIAS.  23 

By  mighty  works  he  swells  his  narrow  day, 
And  reigns  for  ages  o'er  the  world  he  loves. 

"  Yet  what  the  price  ?     With  stings  that  never  cease 
Thou  goad'st  him  on ;  and  when  too  keen  the  smart, 

His  highest  dole  he'd  barter  but  for  peace, 
Food  thou  wilt  have,  or  feast  upon  his  heart." 

LIV. 

Thus  Zophiel  still ;  though  now  the  infernal  crew 
Had  gained  by  sin  a  privilege  in  the  world, 

Allayed  their  torments  in  the  cool  night-dew, 

And  by  the  dim  starlight  again  their  wings  unfurled. 

LV. 

And  now,  regretful  of  the  joys  his  birth 

Had  promised,  deserts,  mounts,  and  streams  he  crossed, 
To  find,  amid  the  loveliest  spots  on  earth, 

Faint  semblance  of  the  heaven  he  had  lost. 

LVI. 

And  oft,  by  unsuccessful  searching  pained, 
Weary  he  fainted  through  the  toilsome  hours ; 

And  then  his  mystic  nature  he  sustained 
On  steam  of  sacrifices,  breath  of  flowers. 


Sometimes  he  gave  out  oracles,  amused 
With  mortal  folly  ;  resting  on  the  shrines  ; 

Or,  all  in  some  fair  sibyl's  form  infused, 

Spoke  from  her  trembling  lips,  or  traced  her  mystic  lines. 


24  ZOPHIEL. 

LVIII. 

And  now  he  wanders  on  from  glade  to  glade 

To  where  more  precious  shrubs  diffuse  their  balms ; 

And  gliding  through  the  thickly- woven  shade, 
Where  the  soft  captive  lay  in  all  her  charms, 

He  caught  a  glimpse.     The  colors  in  her  face, 
Her  bare  white  arms,  her  lips,  her  shining  hair, 

Burst  on  his  view.     He  would  have  flown  the  place, 
Fearing  some  faithful  angel  rested  there, 

Who'd  see  him,  'reft  of  glory,  lost  to  bliss, 
Wandering,  and  miserably  panting,  fain 

To  glean  a  joy  e'en  from  a  place  like  this  : 

The  thought  of  what  he  once  had  been  was  pain 

Ineffable.     But  what  assailed  his  ear? 

A  sigh  !     Surprised,  another  glance  he  took  ; 
Then  doubting,  fearing,  softly  coming  near, 

He  ventured  to  her  side,  and  dared  to  look  ; 

Whispering,  "Yes,  'tis  of  earth  !     So,  new-found  life 
Refreshing,  looked  sweet  Eve,  with  purpose  fell, 

When  first  Sin's  sovereign  gazed  on  her,  and  strife 
Had  with  his  heart,  that  grieved  with  arts  of  hell, 

"  Stern  as  it  was,  to  win  her  o'er  to  death. 

Most  beautiful  of  all  in  earth  or  heaven  ! 
Oh,  could  I  quaff  for  aye  that  fragrant  breath  ! 

Couldst  thou,  or  being  like  to  thee,  be  given 


GROVE    OF    ACACIAS.  25 

"  To  bloom  forever  for  me  thus  !     Still  true 
To  one  dear  theme,  my  full  soul,  flowing  o'er, 

Would  find  no  room  for  thought  of  what  it  knew, 
Nor,  picturing  forfeit  transport,  curse  me  more. 


LIX. 

"  But,  oh,  severest  curse  !  I  cannot  be 
In  what  I  love  blest  e'en  the  little  span 

(With  all  a  spirit's  keen  capacity 

For  bliss)  permitted  the  poor  insect,  man. 


LX. 

"The  few  I've  seen,  and  deemed  of  worth  to  win, 
Like  some  sweet  floweret,  mildewed  in  my  arms, 

Withered  to  hideousness  as  foul  as  sin, 

Grew  fearful  hags ;  and  then,  with  potent  charm 

"  Of  muttered  word  and  harmful  drug,  did  learn 
To  force  me  to  their  will.     Down  the  damp  grave 

Loathing  I  went  at  Endor,  and  uptorn 

Brought  back  the  dead,  when  tortured  Saul  did  crave 

"  To  view  his  lowering  fate.     Fair,  ay,  as  this 

Young  slumberer,  that  dread  witch,  when,  I  arrayed 

In  lovely  shape,  to  meet  my  guileful  kiss, 

She  yielded  first  her  lip.     And  thou,  sweet  maid  !  — 

What  is't  I  see  ?  —  a  recent  tear  has  strayed, 
And  left  its  stain  upon  her  cheek  of  bliss. 


26  ZOPHIEL. 

LXI. 

"  She  has  fallen  to  sleep  in  grief;  haply  been  chid, 
Or  by  rude  mortal  wronged.     So  let  it  prove 

Meet  for  my  purpose  :   'mid  these  blossoms  hid, 
I'll  gaze,  and,  when  she  wakes,  with  all  that  love 

"  And  art  can  lend  come  forth.     He  who  would  gain 
A  fond,  full  heart,  in  love's  soft  surgery  skilled, 

Should  seek  it  when  'tis  sore ;  allay  its  pain 

With  balm  by  pity  pressed :  'tis  all  his  own  so  healed 


LXII. 

"  She  may  be  mine  a  little  year,  e'en  fair 

And  sweet  as  now.     Oh  respite  !  while  possessed 

I  lose  the  dismal  sense  of  my  despair  : 
But  then  —  I  will  not  think  upon  the  rest ! 


LXIII. 

"  And  wherefore  grieve  to  cloud  her  little  day 
Of  fleeting  life  ?     What  doom  from  power  divine 

I  bear  eternally  !     Pity  !  —  away  ! 

Wake,  pretty  fly  !  and,  while  thou  mayst,  be  mine, 

"  Though  but  an  hour ;  so  thou  supply's!  thy  looms 
With  shining  silk,  and  in  the  cruel  snare 

Seest  the  fond  bird  intrapped,  but  for  his  plumes, 
To  work  thy  robes,  or  twine  amidst  thy  hair." 


GROVE    OF    ACACIAS.  2/ 

LXIV. 

To  whisper  softly  in  her  ear  he  bent, 

But  draws  him  back  restrained  :  a  higher  power, 

That  loved  her,  and  would  keep  her  innocent, 
Repelled  his  evil  touch.     And  from  her  bower, 

To  lead  the  maid,  Sephora  comes  :  the  sprite, 
Half  baffled,  followed,  hovering  on  unseen, 

Till  Meles,  fair  to  see,  and  nobly  dight, 

Received  his  pensive  bride.     Gentle  of  mien, 

She  meekly  stood.     He  fastened  round  her  arms 

Rings  of  refulgent  ore  ;  low  and  apart 
Murmuring,  "  So,  beauteous  captive  !  shall  thy  charms 

For  ever  thrall  and  clasp  thy  captive's  heart." 

LXV. 

The  air's  light  touch  seemed  softer  as  she  moved 

In  languid  resignation  :  his  black  eye 
Spoke  in  quick  glances  how  she  was  approved, 

Who  shrank  reluctant  from  its  ardency. 

LXVI. 

'Twas  sweet  to  look  upon  the  goodly  pair 
In  their  contrasted  loveliness.     Her  height 

Might  almost  vie  with  his  :  but  heavenly  fair. 
Of  soft  proportion,  she,  and  sunny  hair  ; 

He  cast  in  manliest  mould,  with  ringlets  murk  as  night. 


28  Z6PHIEL. 


LXVII. 


And  oft  her  drooping  and  resigned  blue  eye 
She'd  wistful  raise  to  read  his  radiant  face  : 

But,  then,  why  shrunk  her  heart  ?  —  a  secret  sigh 

Told  her  it  most  required  what  there  it  could  not  trace. 


LXVIII. 


Now  fair  had  fallen  the  night.     The  damsel  mused 
At  her  own  window,  in  the  pearly  ray 

Of  the  full  moon  :  her  thoughtful  soul  infused 
Thus  in  her  words,  left  lone  a  while  to  pray  :  — 


LXIX. 

"  What  bliss  for  her  who  lives  her  little  day 
In  blest  obedience,  like  to  those  divine, 

Who  to  her  loved,  her  earthly  lord  can  say, 

'  God  is  thy  law,  most  just,  and  thou  art  mine  ! ' 

"  To  every  blast  she  bends  in  beauty  meek,  — 
Let  the  storm  beat,  his  arms  her  shelter  kind,  — 

And  feels  no  need  to  blanch  her  rosy  cheek 
With  thoughts  befitting  his  superior  mind.    • 

"  Who  only  sorrows  when  she  sees  him  pained, 
Then  knows  to  pluck  away  pain's  keenest  dart ; 

Or  bid  love  catch  it  ere  its  goal  be  gained, 
And  steal  its  venom  ere  it  reach  his  heart. 


GROVE    OF    ACACIAS.  2Q 

"  Tis  the  soul's  food  :  the  fervid  must  adore. 

For  this  the  heathen,  unsufficed  with  thought, 
Moulds  him  an  idol  of  the  glittering  ore, 

And  shrines  his  smiling  goddess,  marble-wrought. 

"  What  bliss  for  her,  even  in  this  world  of  woe, 

O  Sire  who  mak'st  yon  orb-strewn  arch  thy  throne ; 

That  sees  thee  in  thy  noblest  work  below 
Shine  undefaced,  adored,  and  all  her  own  ! 

"  This  I  had  hoped  ;  but  hope  too  dear,  too  great, 
Go  to  thy  grave  !  —  I  feel  thee  blasted  now. 

Give  me  fate's  sovereign,  well  to  bear  the  fate 

Thy  pleasure  sends  :  this,  my  sole  prayer,  allow  !  " 

LXX. 

Still  fixed  on  heaven,  her  earnest  eye,  all  dew, 
Seemed,  as  it  sought  amid  the  lamps  of  night 

The  God  her  soul  addressed  ;  but  other  view, 
Far  different,  sudden  from  that  pensive  plight 

Recalled  her.     Quick  as  on  primeval  gloom 
Burst  the  new  day-star  when  the  Eternal  bid, 

Appeared,  and  glowing  filled  the  dusky  room, 
As  'twere  a  brilliant  cloud.  The  form  it  hid 

Modest  emerged,  as  might  a  youth  beseem,  — 
Save  a  slight  scarf,  his  beauty  bare,  and  white 

As  cygnet's  bosom  on  some  silver  stream  ; 
Or  young  Narcissus,  when,  to  woo  the  light 


3O  Z6PHIEL. 

Of  its  first  morn,  that  floweret  open  springs  : 
And  near  the  maid  he  comes  with  timid  gaze, 

And  gently  fans  her  with  his  full-spread  wings, 
Transparent  as  the  cooling  gush  that  plays 

From  ivory  fount.     Each  bright  prismatic  tint 
Still  vanishing,  returning,  blending,  changing, 

About  their  tender  mystic  texture  glint 

Like  colors  o'er  the  full-blown  bubble  ranging 

That  pretty  urchins  launch  upon  the  air, 
And  laugh  to  see  it  vanish  ;  yet,  so  bright, 

More  like  —  and  even  that  were  faint  compare  — 
As  shaped  from  some  new  rainbow.     Rosy  light, 

Like  that  which  pagans  say  the  dewy  car 

Precedes  of  their  Aurora,  clipped  him  round, 

Retiring  as  he  moved  ;  and  evening's  star 
Shamed  not  the  diamond  coronal  that  bound 

His  curly  locks.     And,  still  to  teach  his  face 
Expression  dear  to  her  he  wooed,  he  sought ; 

And  in  his  hand  he  held  a  little  vase 

Of  virgin  gold,  in  strange  devices  wrought. 


Love-toned  he  spoke  :  "  Fair  sister,  art  thou  here 
With  pensive  looks  —  so  near  thy  bridal  bed  — 

Fixed  on  the  pale  cold  moon  ?     Nay,  do  not  fear  : 
To  do  thee  weal  o'er  mount  and  stream  I've  sped. 


GROVE    OF    ACACIAS.  31 

LXXII. 

"  Say,  doth  thy  soul,  in  all  its  sweet  excess, 

Rush  to  this  bridegroom,  smooth  and  falsehood-taught  ? 
Ah,  no  !  thou  yield's!  thee  to  a  feared  caress, 

And  struggles!  with  a  heart  that  owns  him  not. 

LXXIII. 

"  Send  back  this  Meles  to  Euphrates  :  there 
Is  no  reluctance.     Withering  by  that  stream, 

Tell  him  there  droops  a  flower  that  needs  his  care. 
But  why,  at  such  an  hour,  so  base  a  theme? 

LXXIV. 

"  I'll  tell  thee  secrets  of  the  nether  earth 

And  highest  heaven  !     Or  dost  some  service  crave? 

Declare  thy  bidding,  best  of  mortal  birth  : 
I'll  be  thy  winged  messenger,  thy  slave  ! " 

LXXV. 

Then  softly  Egla  :  "  Lovely  being,  tell, 

In  pity  to  the  grief  thy  lips  betray 
The  knowledge  of —  say,  with  some  kindly  spell 

Dost  come  from  heaven  to  charm  my  pains  away? 

"  LXXVI. 

"  Alas  !  what  know'st  thou  of  my  plighted  lord  ? 

If  guilt  pollute  him,  —  as,  unless  mine  ear 
Deceive  me  in  the  purport  of  thy  word, 

Thou  mean'st  to  imply,  —  kind  spirit,  rest  not  here, 


32  Z^PHIEL. 

"  But  to  my  father  hasten,  and  make  known 
The  fearful  truth.     My  doom  is  his  command  : 

Writ  in  heaven's  book,  I  guard  the  oath  I've  sworn, 
Unless  he  will  to  blot  it  by  thine  hand." 

IlKXVII. 

"  Oaths  sworn  for  Meles  little  need  avail," 
Zdphiiil  replies  :  "  Ere  morn,  if  t  be  thy  will, 

To  Lybian  deserts  he  shall  tell  his  tale  : 

I'll  hurl  him,  at  thy  word,  o'er  forest,  sea,  and  hill ! 

LXXVIII. 

"  But  soothe  thee,  maiden  !  be  thy  soul  at  peace  ! 

Mine  be  the  care  to  hasten  to  thy  sire, 
And  null  thy  vow.     Let  every  terror  cease  : 

Perfect  success  attends  thy  least  desire." 

LXXIX. 

Then,  lowly  bending  with  seraphic  grace, 
The  vase  he  proffered  full ;  and  not  a  gem 

Drawn  forth  successive  from  its  sparkling  place 
But  put  to  shame  the  Persian  diadem. 

LXXX. 

While  he,  "  Nay,  let  me  o'er  thy  white  arms  bind 
These  orient  pearls,  less  smooth.     Kgla,  for  thee, 

My  thrilling  substance  pained  by  storm  and  wind, 
I  sought  them  in  the  caverns  of  the  sea. 


GROVE    OF    ACACIAS.  33 


LXXXI. 


"  Look  !  here's  a  ruby  :  drinking  solar  rays, 
I  saw  it  redden  on  a  mountain  tip. 

Now  on  thy  snowy  bosom  let  it  blaze  : 
'Twill  blush  still  deeper  to  behold  thy  lip. 


LXXXII. 

"  Here's  for  thy  hair  a  garland  :  every  flower 
That  spreads  its  blossoms,  watered  by  the  tear 

Of  the  sad  slave  in  Babylonian  bower, 

Might  see  its  frail  bright  hues  perpetuate  here. 

LXXXIII. 

"  For  morn's  light  bell,  this  changeful  amethyst ; 

A  sapphire  for  the  violet's  tender  blue ; 
Large  opals  for  the  queen-rose  zephyr-kist ; 

And  here  are  emeralds  of  every  hue, 
For  folded  bud  and  leaflet,  dropped  with  dew. 

LXXXIV. 

"  And  here's  a  diamond,  culled  from  Indian  mine 
To  gift  a  haughty  queen  :  it  might  not  be  : 

I  knew  a  worthier  brow,  sister  divine, 

And  brought  the  gem ;  for  well  I  deem  for  thee 

"  The  '  arch-chymic  sun  '  in  earth's  dark  bosom  wrought 
To  prison  thus  a  ray,  that  when  dull  Night 

Frowns  o'er  her  realms,  and  Nature's  all  seems  nought, 
She  whom  he  grieves  to  leave  may  still  behold  his  light." 


34 


LXXXV. 


Thus  spoke  he  on,  while  still  the  wondering  maid 
(lazed  as  a  youthful  artist :  rapturously 

Each  perfect,  smooth,  harmonious  limb  surveyed 
Insatiate  still  her  beauty-loving  eye. 

LXXXVI. 

For  Zophiel  wore  a  mortal  form  ;  and  blent 
In  mortal  form,  when  perfect,  Nature  shows 

Her  all  that's  fair  enhanced.     Fire,  firmament, 

Ocean,  earth,  flowers,  and  gems,  —  all  there  disclose 

Their  charms  epitomized  :  the  heavenly  power 
To  lavish  beauty,  in  this  last  work,  crowned ; 

And  Egla,  formed  of  fibres  such  as  dower 
Those  who  most  feel,  forgot  all  else  around. 

LXXXVII. 

He  saw,  and,  softening  every  wily  word, 
Spoke  in  more  melting  music  to  her  soul ; 

And  o'er  her  sense,  as  when  the  fond  night-bird 
Wooes  the  full  rose,  o'erpowering  fragrance  stole  ; 

LXXXVIII. 

Or  when  the  lilies,  sleepier  perfume,  move, 
Disturbed  by  two  young  sister-fawns,  that  play 

Among  their  graceful  stalks  at  morn,  and  love 
From  their  white  cells  to  lap  the  de\v  away. 


GROVE    OF    ACACIAS.  35 


LXXXIX. 


She  strove  to  speak,  but  'twas  in  murmurs  low ; 

Her  tender  cheek  the  spirit's  thrall  expressing 
In  deeper  hues  of  its  carnation  glow  ; 

Her  dewy  eye  her  inmost  soul  confessing. 


xc. 


As  the  lithe  reptile  in  some  lonely  grove, 
With  fixed  bright  eye,  of  fascinating  flame, 

Lures  on  by  slow  degrees  the  plaining  dove, 

So  nearer,  nearer  still,  the  bride  and  spirit  came. 


XCI. 

Success  seemed  his ;  but  secret,  in  the  height 

Of  exultation,  as  he  braved  the  power 
Which  baffled  him  at  morn,  a  subtle  light 

Shot  from  his  eye,  with  guilt  and  treachery  fraught. 

XCII. 

Nature  upon  her  children  oft  bestows 

The  quick,  untaught  perception,  and,  while  Art 

O'ertasks  himself  with  guile,  loves  to  disclose 

The  dark  thought  in  the  eye,  to  warn  the  o'er-trusting 
heart. 

XCIII. 

Or  haply  'twas  some  airy  guardian  foiled 

The  sprite.     What  mixed  emotions  shook  his  breast, 

When  her  fair  hand,  ere  he  could  clasp,  recoiled  ! 
The  spell  was  broke ;  and  doubts  and  terrors  prest 


36  ZOPHIEL. 

Her  sore.     While  Zophiel :  "  Meles'  step  I  hear  !  — 
He's  a  betrayer  !  —  wilt  receive  him  still?"  — 

The  rosy  blood  driven  to  her  heart  by  fear, 
She  said,  in  accents  faint  but  firm,  "  I  will." 

xciv. 

The  spirit  heard  ;  and  all  again  was  dark, 

Save  as  before  the  melancholy  flame 
Of  the  full  moon,  and  faint,  unfrequent  spark 

Which  from  the  perfume's  burning  embers  came, 

xcv. 

That  stood  in  vases  round  the  room  disposed. 

Shuddering  and  trembling  to  her  couch  she  crept. 
Soft  oped  the  door,  and  quick  again  was  closed ; 

And  through  the  pale  gray  moonlight  Meles  slept. 

xcvi. 

But  ere  he  yet  with  haste  could  throw  aside 
His  broidered  belt  and  sandals,  dread  to  tell, 

Eager  he  sprang ;  he  sought  to  clasp  his  bride  ; 
He  stopt ;  a  groan  was  heard  ;  he  gasped,  and  fell 


Low  by  the  couch  of  her  who  widowed  lay, 
Her  ivory  hands,  convulsive,  clasped  in  prayer, 

But  lacking  power  to  move ;  and,  when  'twas  day, 
A  cold  black  corpse  was  all  of  Meles  there  ! 


CANTO   SECOND. 


DEATH   OF  ALTHEETOR. 


ARGUMENT. 

Sardius,  in  his  pavilion,  alone  with  Altheetor.  — Description  of  the  pavilion. 
—  Sardius  sends  a  detachment  of  his  guards  in  search  of  Meles.  —  Egla 
and  her  parents  are  brought  before  the  king  to  answer  for  the  murder  of 
Meles.  —  Egla  relates  the  manner  of  Meles'  death;  is  retained  at  the 
palace,  and  invited  to  banquet  with  Sardius  and  his  princes.  —  Sardius 
determines  to  espouse  Egla,  but  delays  his  purpose  at  the  entreaty  of 
Idaspes.  —  Egla  is  commanded,  on  pain  of  the  death  of  her  father,  to 
receive  as  bridegroom  whomever  the  king  may  appoint.  —  Alcestes, 
Ripheus,  Philomars,  and  Kosanes,  seek  her  chamber,  and  die  in  succes 
sion.  —  Sickness  and  death  of  Altheetor.  — Sorrow  of  Zophiel.  —  Egla 
and  her  parents  sent  back  to  their  home. 


DEATH   OF  ALTHEETOR. 


SOON  over  Meles'  grave  the  wild  flower  dropt 
Its  brimming  dew  ;  nor  far  where  Tigris'  spray 

Leaps  to  the  beam,  in  life's  sweet  blossom  cropt, 
Four  others,  fair  as  he,  were  snatched  from  day. 

Bridegrooms  like  him,  they  knew  his  fate,  yet,  bent 
On  their  desires,  resolved  that  fate  to  brave  : 

So,  in  succession,  each  a  victim  went, 

Borne  from  the  bridal  chamber  to  the  grave. 

n. 

Low  liest  thou,  Meles  !  and  'tis  mine  to  know, 
By  light  of  song,  the  darkly  hidden  power 

That  closed  thy  bland  but  wily  lip,  and  show, 
In  flowing  verse,  what  followed  thy  death-hour. 

in. 

Noon  slept  upon  thy  grave,  and  Media's  king 
Had  sat  him  down,  from  court  and  harem  far, 

39 


4O  ZOPHIEL. 

With  a  young  boy  who  knew  to  touch  the  string 
Of  the  sweet  harp,  and  wage  the  ivory  war 

On  painted  field.     The  fainting  breezes  played 

Among  the  curling  clusters  of  his  hair ; 
Through  myrtle  blooms  and  berries,  white  and  red, 

O'er  the  cool  space  of  a  pavilion,  fair 

As  fond  Ionian  artist  might  devise  : 

Twelve  columns,  ivory  white,  support  a  dome, 

Painted  to  emulate  the  dark  blue  skies 

When  seamen  watch  the  stars,  and  sigh,  and  think  of 
home; 

IV. 

And  in  the  midst  Night's  goddess  (to  the  sight 
More  softly  beauteous  for  a  pictured  moon 

That  mantles  her  in  pale,  mysterious  light) 
Comes  stealing  to  the  arms  of  her  Endymion. 

v. 

On  six  fair  pedestals,  ranged  two  by  two 
Like  Leda's  sons,  the  smiling  pillars  stood ; 

As,  each  by  cither's  side,  they  rose  to  view, 

Spotless  from  limpid  bath  in  some  deep,  dusky  wood, 

Draining  their  dripping  locks.  In  either  space 
Between,  three  lattices,  with  blossoms  bowered, 

Alternate  with  three  pictured  scenes  had  place ; 
And  all  who  saw  believed  some  god  empowered 


DEATH    OF    ALTHEETOR.  4! 

The  gifted  hand  that  spread  their  tints.     In  one, 
Far  from  the  Grecian  camp,  his  rage  profound 

Soothing,  with  lyre  in  hand,  sat  Thetis'  son, 

Beside  the  ocean-wave  that  darkly  dashed  around. 


VI. 

Upon  the  next  young  Myrrha's  form  appears. 

Guilt,  fear,  repentance,  blanch  her  cheek  of  love, 
While,  tender,  beauteous,  shuddering,  drowned  in  tears, 

She  flies  the  day,  and  hides  in  Saba's  deepest  grove. 


VII. 

A  peerless  third  the  bride  of  love  displays, 

Psyche,  with  lamp  in  hand ;  blest,  while  unknown 

The  cause  that  gave  her  bliss  ;  now  daring  rays 
The  mystery  pierce,  and  all  her  pleasures  flown. 


VIII. 

Beneath  that  dome  reclined  the  youthful  king 
Upon  a  silver  couch,  and  soothed  to  mood 

As  free  and  soft  as  perfumes  from  the  wing 
Of  bird  that  shook  the  jasmines  as  it  wooed, 

Its  fitful  song  the  mingling  murmur  meeting 
Of  marble  founts  of  many  a  fair  device, 

And  bees  that  banquet,  from  the  sun  retreating, 
In  every  full,  deep  flower  that  crowns  his  paradise. 


42  z6l'HIEL. 


IX. 


While  gemmy  diadem  thrown  down  beside, 

And  garment  at  the  neck  plucked  open,  proved 

His  unconstraint,  and  scorn  of  regal  pride, 

When,  thus  apart  retired,  he  sat  with  those  he  loved. 


x. 

One  careless  arm  around  the  boy  was  flung, 

Not  undeserving  of  that  free  caress, 
But  warm  and  true,  and  of  a  heart  and  tongue 

To  heighten  bliss,  or  mitigate  distress. 

XI. 

Quick  to  perceive,  in  him  no  freedom  rude 

Reproved  full  confidence  :  friendship,  the  meat 

His  soul  had  starved  without,  with  gratitude 

Was  ta'en  ;  and  her  rich  wine  crowned  high  the  ban 
quet  sweet. 

What  sire  Altheetor  owned  'twere  hard  to  trace  : 

A  beautiful  Ionian  was  his  mother. 
Some  found  to  Sardius  semblance  in  his  face, 

Who  never  better  could  have  loved  a  brother. 

xn. 

But  now  the  ivory  battle  at  its  close, 

"  Go  to  thy  harp,'  said  Sardius  :  "  'twere  severe 

To  keep  thee  longer  thus."     Then,  as  he  rose, 
"Where's  our  ambassador?     Call  Meles  here." 


DEATH    OF    ALTHEETOR.  43 


XIII. 


Altheetor  said,  "  Alas  !  my  prince,  the  chase 
Detains  him  long ;  and  yet  from  peril  sure 

Tis  deemed  he  fares  :  nay,  those  there  are  who  trace 
His  absence  to  some  sylvan  paramour." 


XIV. 

"  Let  him  be  sought,"  said  Sardius.     No  delay 

Mocked    that   command ;    but   vestige,    glimpse,   nor 
breath 

Was  gleaned,  till  sadly,  on  the  seventh  day, 
A  band  returned  with  tidings  of  his  death. 


xv. 

Sardius  was  sad  upon  his  audience-seat. 

Then  spoke  old  Philomars  :  "  Remember  well, 
O  king  !  without  the  city,  had  retreat 

Two  of  those  captives  of  a  race  so  fell, 

"  Thy  father  and  my  lord  would  rid  the  earth, 
Root,  branch,  and  bud,  and  gave  the  task  to  me ; 

But  two  escaped  the  sword,  and  so  had  birth 
Another  serpent.     This,  O  prince  !  to  thee 

"  Was  told,  and  to  complete  the  work  I  craved : 
But  thou  didst  check  my  zeal  with  angry  mood, 

And  saidst,  '  If  any  trembling  wretch  be  saved, 
Let  him  live  on  :  there's  been  enough  of  blood.' 


44  Z6PHIEL. 

"  We've  traced  Lord  Meles  to  that  serpent's  den, 
And  seen  him  in  the  vile  earth  murdered  lie  : 

Yet  wherefore  grieves  the  greatest  king  of  men  ? 
This  only  is  the  fruit  of  clemency." 

XVI. 

Then  Sardius  spoke  (as  on  the  earth  he  cast, 

While  grief  gave  anger  place,  his  full  dark  eye)  :  — 

"  Whoe'er  has  done  this  deed  has  done  his  last ! 

Soldier,  priest,  Jew,  or  Mede,  by  Belus  he  shall  die." 

XVII. 

Then  brought  they  Zorah  in,  misfortune's  pride ; 

His  venerable  locks  with  age  were  white  : 
He  cheered  his  trembling  partner  at  his  side, 

Reposing  on  his  God,  befall  him  as  it  might. 

XVIII. 

Young  Egla  marked  him  stand  so  firm  and  pale ; 

Looked  in  her  mother's  face,  —  'twas  anguish  there  ; 
Then  gently  threw  aside  her  azure  veil, 

And  in  an  upward  glance  sent  forth  to  heaven  a  prayer 

XIX. 

Then  prostrate  thus  :  "  O  monarch,  seal  my  doom  ! 

Thy  sorrow  for  Lord  Meles'  death  I  know. 
Take  then  thy  victim,  drag  me  to  his  tomb, 

And  to  his  manes  let  my  life-blood  flow  ! 


DEATH    OF    ALTHEETOR.  45 

XX. 

"  Oh  !  by  the  God  who  made  yon  glowing  sun, 
And  warmed  cold  dust  to  beauty  with  his  breath, 

By  all  the  good  that  e'er  was  caused  or  done, 

Nor  I  nor  mine  have  wrought  thy  subject's  death. 

XXI. 

"  Yet  think  not  I  would  live.     Alas  !  to  me 
No  warrior  of  my  country  e'er  shall  come ; 

And  forth  with  dance  and  flowers  and  minstrelsy 
I  go  to  bid  no  brother  welcome  home. 

XXII. 

"  Sad  from  my  birth,  —  nay,  born  upon  that  day 
When  perished  all  my  race,  —  my  infant  ears 

Were  opened  first  with  groans  ;  and  the  first  ray 
I  saw  came  dimly  through  my  mother's  tears. 

"  Pour  forth  my  life,  a  guiltless  offering 
Most  freely  given  !     But  let  me  die  alone  ! 

Destroy  not  those  who  gave  me  birth  !  O  king  ! 
I've  blood  enough  :  let  it  for  all  atone  !  " 

XXIII. 

She  traced  it  on  her  hand,  through  the  soft  skin 
Meandering  seen.  Without,  that  hand  was  white 

As  drops  for  infant  lip  ;  the  palm  within 
Faintly  carnationed,  as  of  Amphitrit', 


46  Z6PHIEL. 

The  fond  lonians  fancied  the  pure  shell 
Chosen  by  that  loved  goddess  for  a  car, 

"\Yhile  o'er  her  feet  dissolving  foam-wreaths  fell 
In  kisses :  so  they  dreamed,  in  little  bark  afar. 


XXIV. 

Egla  had  ceased  :  her  pure  cheeks'  heightened  glow, 
Her  white  hands  clasped,  blue  veil  half  fallen  down, 

Fair  locks  and  gushing  tears,  stole  o'er  him  so, 
That  Sardius  had  not  harmed  her  for  his  crown. 

Yet,  serious,  thus  fair  justice'  course  pursued, 
As  if  to  hide  what  look  and  tone  revealed  :  — 

"  What  lured  a  Median  to  thy  solitude  ? 

How  came  his  death?  and  who  his  corse  concealed?" 


XXV. 

Twas  thus  she  told  her  tale  :  "  A  truant  dove 
Had  flown.     I  strayed  a  little  from  the  track 

That  winds  in  ma/.es  to  my  lonely  grove, 

But  heard  a  hunter's  voice,  and  hastened  back. 


XXVI. 

"  Lord  Meles  saw  ;  and  with  a  slender  dart 
Fastened  the  little  flutterer  to  a  tree 

By  the  white  wing,  with  such  surpassing  art, 
'Twas  scarcely  wounded  when  returned  to  me. 


DEATH    OF    ALTHEETOR.  47 


XXVII. 


"  Thankful  I  took  ;  but,  taught  to  be  afraid 

Of  stranger's  glance,  retired  :  my  mother  sighed, 

And  trembling  saw.     Yet  soon  our  dwelling's  shade 
The  Median  sought,  and  claimed  me  for  a  bride. 


XXVIII. 


"  But  when  reluctant  to  my  humble  room 
I  had  retired,  was  spread  a  fragrance  there, 

Like  rose  and  lotus  shaken  in  their  bloom ; 

And  something  came  and  spoke,  and  looked  so  fair, 


XXIX. 


"  It  seemed  all  fresh  from  heaven.     But  soon  the  thought 
Of  things  that  tempt  to  sorcery  in  the  night 

Made  me  afraid.     It  fled,  and  Meles  sought 
His  bridal  bed  :  the  moon  was  shining  bright : 


xxx. 


"  I  saw  his  bracelets  gleam,  and  knew  him  well ; 

But,  ere  he  spoke,  was  breathed  a  sound  so  dread, 
That  fear  enchained  my  senses  like  a  spell ; 

And,  when  the  morning  came,  my  lord  was  dead. 


XXXI. 


"  And  then  my  mother,  in  her  anxious  care, 
Concealed  me  in  a  cave,  that  long  before 

Saved  her  from  massacre,  and  left  me  there 
To  live  in  darkness  till  the  search  was  o'er 


48  Z6PHIEL. 

"  Her  fears  foretold.     So  in  that  cavern's  gloom 

Alone  upon  the  damp  bare  rock  I  lay 
Like  a  deserted  corse  ;  but  that  cold  tomb 

Soon  filled  with  rosy  mists,  like  dawn  of  day, 

"  Which,  half  dispersing,  showed  the  same  fair  thing 

I  saw  before ;  and  with  it  came  another, 
More  gentle  than  the  first,  —  and  helped  it  bring 

Fresh  flowers  and  fruits,  —  in  semblance  like  a  brother. 

XXXII. 

"  They  spread  upon  the  rock  a  flowery  couch, 

And  of  a  sparkling  goblet  bade  me  sip, 
For  that  they  saw  me  cold  :  I  dared  not  touch, 

But,  'mid  the  sweet  temptation,  closed  my  lip ; 

"  And  from  their  grateful  warmth  and  looks  so  fair 
I  turned  away,  and  chrank.     Of  their  intent 

I  do  not  know  to  tell,  or  what  they  were, 

But  feared  and  doubted  both,  and,  when  they  went, 

"  Fled  trembling  to  my  home,  content  to  meet 
The  sternest  death  injustice  might  prepare, 

Ere  trust  my  weakness  in  that  dark  retreat 
To  such  strange  peril  as  assailed  me  there." 

XXXIII. 

She  ceased,  and  now,  in  palace  bade  to  stay, 
Awaits  the  royal  pleasure  ;  but  no  more, 


DEATH    OF    ALTHEETOR.  49 

Though  strictly  watched  and  guarded  all  the  day, 
To  that  stern  warrior's  threats  was  given  o'er,  — 

Dark  Philomars,  strong  in  his  country's  cause ; 

But  harder  than  his  battle-helm  his  heart : 
Born  while  his  father  fought,  and  nursed  in  wars, 

Pillage  and  fire  his  sports,  to  kill  his  only  art. 

XXXIV. 

And,  when  he  sacked  a  city,  he  could  tear 
The  screaming  infant  from  its  mother's  arms, 

Dash  it  to  earth,  and,  while  'twas  weltering  there, 
With  demon  grasp  impress  her  shuddering  charms ; 

Then,  as  she  faints  with  shrieks  and  struggles  vain, 

Coolly  recall  her  with  the  ruffian  blow  ; 
And  look,  and  pause,  insatiate  of  her  pain ; 

Then  gash  her  tender  throat,  and  see  the  life-blood  flow. 

XXXV. 

O  Nature  !  can  it  be  ?     The  thought  alone 
Chills  the  quick  pulse  :  Belief  retires  afar ; 

Reason  grows  angry  ;  Pity  breathes  a  groan  ; 

And  each  distrusts  the  truth  :  yet  "  such  things  are." 

Are  !  —  nay,  in  this  late  age  !  God,  canst  thou  view 
Thine  image  so  debased?  The  bard  in  grief 

Thinks  o'er  the  creed  of  fiends  ;  sees  what  men  do ; 
And,  wondering,  scarce  rejects  the  wild  belief. 


5O  Z6PHIEL. 

XXXVI. 

Night  came  ;  and  old  Idaspes,  all  alone 
With  Sardius,  had  retired ;  but  why  so  late 

He  wakes,  with  his  white  hairs,  may  not  be  known ; 
And  still  the  captives  tremble  for  their  fate. 

But,  when  the  old  man  went,  that  gentle  boy 
Altheetor  sat  by  his  loved  master's  couch  ; 

And  fervent  pleadings  for  their  lives  employ 

His  lips  that  else  had  sung.     The  while  his  touch 

Thrilled  o'er  his  lyre,  gay  Meles'  early  blight 

Passed  from  the  prince's  thought :  the  transient  gloom 
Was  to  his  soul  just  as  some  bird  of  night 
Had  flitted  'cross  the  moon,  when,  full  and  bright, 

She  o'er  his  garden  shone  in  the  sweet  month  of  bloom. 


xxxvn. 

Of  late  his  harem  tired  :  if  suns  were  there, 
He  did  not  burn,  but  sickened  in  their  rays ; 

And  snow-white  Egla,  mild  and  chaste  and  fair, 
Came  o'er  his  fancy,  as  in  sultry  days 

Soft  clouds  appear,  when  travellers  bare  the  brow, 
And,  faint  and  panting,  bless  the  timely  shade, 

And  breathe  the  cool  refreshment :  so  e'en  now 
Refreshed  his  languid  soul  the  softly-imaged  maid. 


DEATH    OF    ALTHEETOR.  $1 

XXXVIII. 

Or  as  some  youth  waked  from  the  vine's  excess, 
Parched  and  impure,  forgets  the  joys  it  gave, 

And  flies  the  fair  Bacchante's  wild  caress 

For  some   lone    Naiad's   grot,  and   cools  him  in  the 
wave. 

XXXIX. 

Or  as  some  graceful  fawn,  o'erspent  with  play, 

Faints  in  the  beam,  and,  where  deep  shades  invite, 

FlieS;  all  impatient  of  the  burning  day, 

And  wooes  the  lily's  shade  to  hide  him  from  its  light. 

XL. 

So  felt  the  king  :  nor  sleeping  quite,  nor  waking, 
As  wildering  o'er  his  lids  the  zephyrs  sweep, 

Whole  beds  of  purple  hyacinths  forsaking  ; 
And,  when  sweet  revery  gave  place  to  sleep, 

He  dreamed  of  baths,  or  beds  of  flowers  and  dew, 

Or  sculptured  marbles,  as  at  Cnidos  seen ; 
But  still,  with  fair  long  locks,  and  veil  of  blue, 
Another  form  would  blend  with  every  view, 

With  visionary  grace  and  heavenly  eye  and  mien. 

XLI. 

The  smile  of  morning  woke  Idaspes'  care  ; 

And  Egla,  dubious  if  its  light  might  bring 
Or  weal  or  woe  to  her,  was  bid  prepare 

To  sit  at  evening  banquet  with  the  king. 


52  ZOPHIEL. 


XLII. 


Then  came  an  ancient  dame,  skilled  in  those  arts 
Employed  by  Beauty's  daughters  to  enchain 

Or  lightly  touch  the  soft  voluptuous  hearts 

Of  youths  that  seem,  as  they,  of  curl  and  eyebrow  vain 


XLIII. 

And,  pouring  perfumes  in  the  bath,  she  told 

Wild  tales  of  a  Chaldean  princess,  loved 
By  the  fair  sprite  Eroziel,  who,  of  old, 

Taught  all  those  trims  to  heighten  beauty,  proved 

By  Lydian,  Median,  Perse,  and  Greek ;  with  black 
To  tip  the  eyelid  ;  stain  the  finger  ;  deck 

The  cheek  with  hues  that  languor  bids  it  lack ; 
And  how  he  taught  to  twine  the  arms  and  neck 

With  wreaths  of  gems,  or  made  or  found  by  him, 
Or  his  enamoured  brothers,  when  they  bore 

Love  for  the  like,  and  many  a  secret  dim 

That   nature   would   conceal,  from   charmed   recesses 
tore. 

XLIV. 

This  story  o'er,  the  dainty  maids  were  fain 
To  take  the  white  rose  of  her  hand,  and  tip 

Each  taper  finger  with  a  ruddy  stain 
To  make  it  like  the  coral  of  her  lip. 


DEATH    OF    ALTHEETOR.  53 


XLV. 

But  Egla  this  refused  them,  and  forbore 

The  folded  turban  twined  with  many  a  string 

Of  gems ;  and,  as  in  tender  memory,  wore 

Her  country's  simpler  garb  to  meet  the  youthful  king. 

XLVI. 

Day  o'er,  the  task  was  done ;  the  melting  hues 
Of  twilight  gone,  and  reigned  the  evening  gloom 

Gently  o'er  fount  and  tower :  she  could  refuse 

No  more,  and,  led  by  slaves,  sought  the  fair  banquet- 
room  ; 

XLVII. 

With  unassured  yet  graceful  step  advancing, 
The  light  vermilion  of  her  cheek  more  warm 

For  doubting  modesty  ;  while  all  were  glancing 

Over  the  strange  attire  that  well  became  such  form. 

XLVIII. 

To  lend  her  space  the  admiring  band  gave  way : 
The  sandals  on  her  silvery  feet  were  blue  ; 

Of  saffron  tint  her  robe,  as  when  young  Day 

Spreads  softly  o'er  the  heavens,  and  tints  the  trembling 
dew. 

XL1X. 

Light  was  that  robe  as  mist ;  and  not  a  gem 

Or  ornament  impedes  its  wavy  fold, 
Long  and  profuse  ;  save  that,  above  its  hem, 

Twas  broidered  with  pomegranate-wreath  in  gold ; 


54  z6pniEL. 

L. 

And,  by  a  silken  cincture  broad  and  blue 
In  shapely  guise  about  the  waist  confined, 

Blent  with  the  curls,  that,  of  a  lighter  hue, 
Half  floated,  waving  in  their  length  behind  : 

The  other  half,  in  braided  tresses  twined, 

Was  decked  with  rose  of  pearls,  and  sapphires'  azure 
too, 

Arranged  with  curious  skill  to  imitate 

The  sweet  acacia's  blossoms,  just  as  live 
And  droop  those  tender  flowers  in  natural  state  ; 

And  so  the  trembling  gems  seemed  sensitive, 

And,  pendent  sometimes,  touch  her  neck,  and  there 
Seem  shrinking  from  its  softness  as  alive  ; 

And  o'er  her  arms,  flower-white  and  round  and  bare, 
Slight  bandelets  were  twined  of  colors  five, 

Like  little  rainbows  seemly  on  those  arms  : 

None  of  that  court  had  seen  the  like  before  ; 
Soft,  fragrant,  bright,  —  so  much  like  heaven  her  charms, 
.    It  scarce  could  seem  idolatry  to  adore. 

Li. 

He  who  beheld  her  hand  forgot  her  face ; 

Yet  in  that  face  was  all  beside  forgot : 
And  he  who,  ac  she  went,  beheld  her  pace, 

And  locks  profuse,  had  said,  "  Nay,  turn  thee  not." 


DEATH    OF    ALTHEETOR.  55 

LH. 

Placed  on  a  banquet-couch  beside  the  king, 
'Mid  many  a  sparkling  guest  no  eye  forbore ; 

But,  like  their  darts,  the  warrior-princes  fling 

Such  looks  as  seemed  to  pierce,  and  scan  her  o'er  and 
o'er  : 

Nor  met  alone  the  glare  of  lip  and  eye,  — 

Charms,  but  not  rare  :  the  gazer  stern  and  cool, 

Who  sought  but  faults,  nor  fault  or  spot  could  spy  : 
In  every  limb,  joint,  vein,  the  maid  was  beautiful ; 

LIII. 

Save  that  her  lip,  like  some  bud-bursting  flower, 
Just  scorned  the  bounds  of  symmetry  perchance, 

But  by  its  rashness  gained  an  added  power, 
Heightening  perfection  to  luxuriance. 

LIV. 

But  that  was  only  when  she  smiled,  and  when 
Dissolved  the  intense  expression  of  her  eye ; 

And,  had  her  spirit-love  first  seen  her  then, 
He  had  not  doubted  her  mortality. 

LV. 

And  could  she  smile'  for  that  a  stranger  hung 
O'er  her  fair  form,  and  spoke  to  her  of  love  ? 

Where  is  the  youth  who  scorned  a  court,  and  sprung 
Amid  Euphrates'  waves,  as  told  her  in  her  grove  ? 


56  ZOPHIEL. 

Haply  she  did,  and  for  a  while  forgot 

Those  dark  acacias,  where  so  oft  was  wept 

Her  lone,  uncertain,  visionary  lot ; 

Yet  where  an  angel  watched  her  as  she  slept. 


LVI. 

When  light,  love,  music,  beauty,  all  dispense 

Their  wild  commingling  charms,  who  shall  control 

The  gushing  torrent  of  attracted  sense, 

And  keep  the  forms  of  memory  and  of  soul? 

LVII. 

O  theme  of  rapture,  honored  Constancy  ! 

Invoked,  hoped,  sworn,  but  rare  !  have  we  perchance 
To  thank  the  generous  breast  that  nurtures  thee 

For   thy  dear  life,  when    saved?    or  fate   or  circum 
stance  ? 

Lvm. 

"Thy  fragrant  form,  as  the  tall  lily  white, 
Looks  full  and  soft,  yet  supple  as  the  reed 

Kissing  its  image  in  the  fountain  light, 

Or  ostrich'  wavy  plume."     So  speaks  the  Mede, 

While,  bending  o'er  her  banquet-couch,  he  breathes 
Her  breath,  whose  fragrance  wooes  that  near  advance  ; 

Plays  with  her  silken  tresses'  wandering  wreaths, 
And  looks,  and  looks  again  with  renovated  glance. 


DEATH    OF    ALTHEETOR.  57 


LDC. 


But,  ever  watchful,  to  his  prince's  side 
Came  old  Idaspes,  —  he  alone  might  dare 

To  check  the  rising  transport,  ere  its  tide 

Arose  too  high  to  quell,  —  and  thus  expressed  his  care, 


Whispering  in  murmurs  first :  "  At  last,  O  king  ! 

Thy  subjects  breathe  ;  the  cries  of  slaughter  cease ; 
And  happy  laborers  bless  thee,  as  they  bring 

Forth  from  thy  smiling  fields  the  fruits  of  peace. 


"  Their  wounds  just  healing  over,  wouldst  thou  rush 
Upon  thy  doom  and  theirs?     What  bitter  tears 

Must  flow  if  thou  shouldst  fall !  what  blood  must  gush  ! 
Wait  till  the  cause  of  Meles'  fate  appears ; 


"  And,  ere  this  dangerous  beauty  be  thy  bride, 

Let  him  who  loves  thee  best  come  forth  and  prove 

The  peril  first."     Alcestes  rose  beside, 

And  said,  "  O  prince  !  to  prove  my  faith  and  love, 


"  I'll  dare  as  many  deaths  as  on  the  sod 

Without  the  falling  rose  of  leaves  has  strown ; 

And,  if  bland  Meles  fell  by  rival  god, 

So  let  me  fall ;  and  live  the  pride  of  Media's  throne." 


58  z6PHIKL. 


LX. 


Egla,  o'erwhelmed  with  shame,  distaste,  and  fear, 
Could  of  remonstrance  utter  not  a  breath, 

Ere  fixed  Idaspes'  whisper  met  her  ear,  — 

"  One  word  impassive  seals  thy  father's  death" 

LXI. 

And,  while  Alcestes'  bolder  glances  stray 
O'er  the  fair  trembler  to  his  monarch  dear, 

Not  one  distrustful  whispering  came  to  allay 
The  sudden  joy  with  slightest  shade  of  fear. 

A  dark-haired  priestess,  well  he  knew,  of  late 
Had  Meles  loved  ;  and,  for  the  mystery 

That  hung  so  darkly  o'er  his  early  fate, 

Looked  for  no  deadlier  cause  than  wounded  jealousy. 


LXII. 

And  for  the  story  of  the  cave,  he  deemed 
That  lone,  and  in  the  dark,  the  frighted  maid 

Had  gained  a  respite  from  her  tears,  and  dreamed  ; 
Or  haply  framed  the  tale  but  to  evade 

Some  feared  result.     But,  be  it  as  it  might, 

The  thoughtless  king  accedes ;  and,  ere  the  day 

Again  had  dawned,  dead,  ghastly  to  the  sight, 
Before  his  bridal  door  the  tall  Alcestes  lay. 


DEATH    OF    ALTHEETOR.  59 


LXIII. 


So  died  the  youth.     But  little  might  avail 
His  sacrifice  ;  for  Sardius,  who  forbore 

His  purpose  but  a  while,  contemned  the  tale, 
And  madly  spoke  thus,  ere  the  day  was  o'er  :  — 


LXIV. 


"  Ask  of  Alcestes'  manes,  did  he  die 

By  angry  god  or  mortal's  traitorous  hand  ? 

Whoe'er  will  draw  to  light  this  mystery, 

Shall  live  the  captain  of  my  choicest  band." 


LXV. 


That  promise  claimed  Ripheus  :  he  desired 
No  dearer  boon  ;  yet  haply  panted,  less 

By  maddening  thought  of  love  and  beauty  fired 
Than  to  a  rival  court  to  prove  his  fearlessness. 


LXVI. 


He  had  grasped  the  wily  Parthian  in  the  fight 
Leapt  on  the  wounded  tiger  in  the  chase ; 

And  oft  his  mother,  vain  in  her  delight, 
Boasted  she  owed  him  to  a  god's  embrace. 


LXVII. 


So  he  relied  on  that ;  and  fickle  chance 
Conspired  with  the  deceit,  until  his  doom 

Was  rushed  upon.     But  still  his  bold  advance 
Some  caution  guarded.     To  the  fatal  room 


6O  Z6PHIEL. 

He  came,  and  first  explored  with  trusty  blade  ; 

But,  soon  as  he  approached  the  fatal  bride, 
Opened  the  terrace-door,  and,  half  in  shade, 

A  form,  as  of  a  mortal,  seemed  to  glide. 


LXVIII. 

He  flew  to  strike ;  but  baffling  still  the  blow, 
And  still  receding  from  the  chamber  far, 

It  lured  him  on  ;  and  in  the  morning  low 
And  bloody  lay  the  form,  which  not  a  scar 


Before  had  e'er  defaced.     Dismay  profound 
Gave  place  to  doubt ;  for,  as  by  mortal  hand 

And  mortal  weapon  made,  the  wound  was  found, 

And  heard  had  been  the  clash  that  snapped  his  dinted 
brand. 

LXIX. 

Then  came,  with  rage  renewed,  rough  Philomars, 
(For  gentle  bridegroom's  office  most  unmeet 

Of  all,)  and  craved,  in  guerdon  of  his  scars, 
Permission  to  drag  forth  the  deep  deceit 


He  charged  upon  the  daughter  of  the  Jew, 

Whose  life  provoked  his  thirst ;  and  pledged  him,  rife 

With  ancient  hate,  to  bring  her  fraud  to  view, 
Or  pay  the  bold  aspersion  with  his  life. 


DEATH    OF    ALTHEETOR.  6l 

LXX. 

Led  from  the  bridal  room  a  deep  arcade, 

And  paths  of  flowers  ;  and  fountains,  often  graced 
With  bathing  beauty,  now  reflect  the  shade 

Of    warriors   tall   and    grim   with   helm   and  corselet 
braced. 

LXXI. 

They  guard  each  pass,  so  that  a  bird  in  vain 

An  outlet  to  his  airy  rounds  might  seek  : 
And  Philomars  stalked  o'er  the  floor,  with  pain 

Stifling  the  rage  which  yet  he  dared  not  wreak ; 

And   muttering  'twixt   clinched   teeth,  "  At  last,  young 

witch, 

Ends  thy  career  !  "  then  he,  with  careful  touch 
Of  his  proved  sword,  examined  every  niche  ; 

Then  to  the  bride  approached,  and  would  have  pierced 
her  couch. 

LXXII. 

Not  Eva,  lovelier  than  the  tints  of  air, 

Crouching  amid  the  leaves  lest  heaven  should  see 

That  form,  all  panting  'neath  her  yellow  hair, 

E'er  looked  more  fair,  or  trembled  more,  than  she. 

LXXIII. 

But  the  pale  blaze  of  every  fragrant  lamp 

That  moment  died,  as  if  a  sudden  gust 
Of  thick  cold  air  had  gushed  from  cavern  damp ; 

And,  groping  in  the  darkness,  vainly  curst 


62  ZOPHIJCL. 

And  struggled  Philomars.     'Twas  his  last  breath 
That  Kgla  heard,  the  suffocating  noise 

O  O 

Of  the  one  lengthened  pang  that  gave  him  death  : 

She  swooned  upon  her  couch,  but  might  not  know  the 
cause. 

LXXIV. 

The  young  Rosanes  came  at  early  morn 
To  view  the  corse,  that  lay  in  piteous  case, 

Grasping  the  sword  its  hand  at  eve  had  drawn, 
The  last  fierce  frown  still  stiff  upon  its  face. 

LXXV. 

And  thus  the  youth  (in  dress  of  horseman  dight)  :  — 
"  Art  dead,  old  wolf?     If  ever,  since  his  reign, 

Pluto  was  grateful,  take  his  thanks  to-night ; 

For  who  has  sent  down  more  to  people  his  domain  ? 

LXXVI. 

"  But  prithee,  soldier,  when  the  nether  coasts 
Receive  thy  soul,  less  grim  and  angry  be, 

Lest  the  fair  sun  be  clouded  o'er  with  ghosts 

That  rush  again  to  earth  to  'scape  the  sight  of  thee  ! " 

LXXVII. 

Rosanes  of  the  painted  eyebrow  vain, 

To  gain  report  for  wit  and  valor  strove  ; 
Rearing  his  Parthian  courser  on  the  plain, 

And  boasting,  at  the  feast,  of  Naiad's  love  : 


DEATH    OF    ALTHEETOR.  63 

LXXVIII. 

And  round  his  neck  an  amulet  he  wore 

Of  many  a  gem  in  mystic  mazes  tied  ; 
And,  mad  for  much  applause,  not  long  forbore 

To  name  his  wishes  for  the  dangerous  bride. 

LXXIX. 

Enough  to  tell,  he  shared  the  common  fate 

Of  those  whose  rash  adventurous  zeal  could  dare 

The  spirit-guarded  couch.     But,  oh  !  thy  state, 

Altheetor,  generous  boy  !    best   claims   the  minstrel's 
care. 

LXXX. 

When  Media's  last  king  died  a  tumult  rose, 
And  all  Idaspes'  prudence  scarce  procured 

To  keep  the  youthful  Sardius  from  his  foes ; 
And,  ere  his  father's  throne  was  yet  secured, 

Upon  a  terrace  while  Altheetor  hung 

About  the  prince,  who  carelessly  carest, 
A  well-aimed  arrow  glanced  :  the  stripling  sprung, . 

Stood  like  a  shield,  and  let  it  pierce  his  breast. 

LXXXI. 

But  sage  Pithoes  knew  the  healing  good 
Of  every  herb  :  he  plucked  the  dart  away, 

And  stopped  the  rich  effusion  of  his  blood 
As  at  his  monarch's  feet  the  boy  exulting  lay ; 


64  ZOPHIEL. 


LXXXII. 


Drew  forth  from  scrip  an  antidotal  balm, 

And,  ere  the  venom  through  life's  streams  could  creep, 
Bestowed  —  for  death's  convulsions  —  dewy  calm, 

And  steeped  each  throbbing  vein  in  salutary  sleep. 


LXXXIII. 


But  now  Altheetor's  sick.     The  kindly  draught, 
The  bath  of  bruised  herbs,  were  vainly  tried ; 

While  his  young  breath  seemed  as  it  fain  would  waft 
His  soul  away,  so  piteously  he  sighed. 


LXXXIV. 


Above  his  couch  were  hung  his  sword  and  lyre, 
His  polished  bow,  and  javelin  often  proved 

In  the  far  chase,  where  once  in.  faith  and  fire 

He  fared  beside  to  guard  and  watch  the  prince  he  loved. 


LXXXV. 


His  fragrant  locks,  thrown  backward  from  his  brow, 
Displayed  its  throbbing  pulse  :  ah  !  how  rebelled 

That  heart,  the  seat  of  truth  !     Beside  him  now 
One  languid  hand  the  good  Pithoes  held, 


LXXXVI. 


And  looked,  and  thought,  and  bent  his  brow  in  vain ; 

Then,  in  the  sadness  of  his  baffled  skill, 
Resigned  the  boy  to  fate  ;  then  thought  again, 

Was  there  no  hidden  cause  for  such  consuming  ill? 


DEATH    OF    ALTHEETOR.  65 


LXXXVII. 


Still  o'er  the  couch  he  casts  his  gentle  eyes, 
And  brings  fresh  balm  ;  but  all  is  unavailing. 

Altheetor  faintly  breathes  his  thanks,  and  sighs, 
As  if  his  guiltless  life  that  moment  were  exhaling. 


LXXXVIII. 


Twas  long  he  had  not  spoke  :  now  heaved  his  breast ; 

And  now,  despite  of  shame,  a  tear  was  straying 
From  the  closed,  quivering  lid.     Some  grief  supprest, 

Some  secret  care,  upon  his  life  was  preying. 

LXXXIX. 

So  came  a  glimpse  across  PithoeY  thought ; 

And,  in  obedience  to  the  doubt,  he  said,  — • 
"  'T is  strange,  Altheetor,  thou  hast  never  aught 

Asked  or  expressed  of  the  fair  captive  maid ; 

"  For  it  was  thou  who  forced  the  crowd  to  yield, 
When  she  was  rudely  dragged,  on  audience-day, 

And  gently  loosed  from  Philomars's  shield 
A  lock  of  her  fair  hair  he  else  had  torn  away. 

xc. 

"  Sardius  believed  and  loved  her ;  would  have  wed  ; 

But  old  Idaspes,  doubtful  'twas  some  god, 
That,  amorous  of  her  charms,  laid  Meles  dead, 

A  while  restrained  the  king,  who  saw,  unawed, 


66  Z6PHIEL. 

"  The  gay  Alcestes  from  her  chamber  fair 

Thrown  dead  and  black.     Ripheus,  too,  lies  low  ; 

Old  Philomars  spoke  his  last  curses  there  ; 
And  young  Rosanes  ne'er  his  silver  bow 


"  Shall  draw  again.  And  yet  the  king  is  fixed 
In  his  resolve  to  wed  :  some  power  divine, 

Envying  our  peace,  impels  ;  or  she  has  mixed, 
By  magic  skill,  some  philtre  with  his  wine. 


xci. 

"  Or  there's  in  her  blue  eye  some  wicked  light 
That  steadily  allures  him  to  his  doom. 

She's  bidden  to  the  feast  again  to-night, 
And  good  Idaspes'  countenance  in  gloom 


"  Is  fallen  ;  in  vain  he  strives ;  his  silver  hairs 
Rise  with  the  anguish  at  his  heart's  true  core  : 

While  the  impatient,  reckless  Sardius  swears 

By  Baal,  whate'er  betides,  to  wait  but  three  days  more. 


xcn. 

"  Nor  soldier,  prince,  or  satrap,  more  appear 
Vaunting  their  fealty  firm  with  flattering  breath  ; 

But  each  speaks  low,  as  if  some  god  were  near, 
In  silent  anger  singling  him  for  death." 


DEATH    OF    ALTHEETOR.  6/ 


XCIII. 


Now  o'er  Altheetor's  face  what  changes  glistened 

As  ear  and  open  lip  drank  every  word  ! 
He  raised  him  from  his  couch,  he  looked,  he  listened, 

Reviving,  renovating,  as  he  heard. 

xciv. 

O'er  cheek  and  brow  a  lively  red  was  rushing, 
While  half  he  felt  his  dark  eye  could  not  tell ; 

Then  (spent  the  pang  of  hope)  cold  dews  were  gushing 
From  brow  again  turned  pale.     He  drooped  ;  he  fell 

Faint  on  his  pillow.     Unsurprised  and  calm, 

Soon  to  restore,  the  good  Pithoes  knew  : 
He  saw  what  fever  raged,  and  knew  its  balm  ; 

Spoke  comfort  to  his  charge  ;  and  for  a  while  withdrew. 

xcv. 

What  in  his  breast  revolved  I  cannot  tell : 
To  seek  Idaspes'  aid  his  steps  were  bent ; 

And  when  'twas  midnight,  as  by  sudden  spell 
Restored,  to  bridal  room  Altheetor  went. 

xcvi. 

Touching  his  golden  harp  to  prelude  sweet, 
Entered  the  youth  so  pensive,  pale,  and  fair ; 

Advanced  respectful  to  the  virgin's  feet, 

And,  lowly  bending  down,  made  tuneful  parlance  there. 


68  Z6PHIEL. 


xcvn. 


Like  perfume  soft  his  gentle  accents  rose, 
And  sweetly  thrilled  the  gilded  roof  along : 

His  warm  devoted  soul  no  terror  knows, 
And  truth  and  love  lend  fervor  to  his  song. 


XCVIII. 


She  hides  her  face  upon  her  couch,  that  there 

She  may  not  see  him  die.     No  groan  !  —  she  springs, 

Frantic  between  a  hope-beam  and  despair, 

And  twines  her  long  hair  round  him  as  he  sings. 


xcix. 


Then  thus  :  "  O  being,  who  unseen  but  near 
Art  hovering  now,  behold  and  pity  me  ! 

For  love,  hope,  beauty,  music-,  all  that's  dear, 
Look  —  look  on  me,  and  spare  my  agony  ! 


c. 


"  Spirit !  in  mercy,  make  not  me  the  cause, 
The  hateful  cause,  of  this  kind  being's  death  ! 

In  pity  kill  me  first !    He  lives  !  he  draws  — 

Thou  wilt  not  blast?  —  he  draws  his  harmless  breath  !  " 


ci. 


Still  lives  Altheetor ;   still  unguarded  strays 
One  hand  o'er  his  fallen  lyre  ;  but  all  his  soul 

Is  lost,  —  given  up  :  he  fain  would  turn  to  gaze, 
But  cannot  turn,  so  twined.     Now  all  that  stole 


DEATH    OF    ALTHEETOR.  69 

Through  every  vein,  and  thrilled  each  separate  nerve, 
Himself  could  not  have  told,  all  wound  and  clasped 

In  her  white  arms  and  hair.     Ah  !  can  they  serve 

To  save  him  ?     "  What  a  sea  of  sweets  !  "  he  gasped  ; 

But  'twas  delight :  sound,  fragrance,  all  were  breathing. 

Still  swelled  the  transport :  "  Let  me  look  —  and  thank," 
He  sighs,  celestial  smiles  his  lip  inwreathing : 

"  I  die. —  but  ask  no  more,"  he  said,  and  sank  — 

Still  by  her  arms  supported  —  lower  —  lower  — 
As  by  soft  sleep  oppressed  :  so  calm,  so  fair, 

He  rested  on  the  purple  tapestried  floor, 
It  seemed  an  angel  lay  reposing  there. 

en. 

Egla  bent  o'er  him  in  amaze  ;  a  while 

Thanked  God,  the  spirit,  and  her  stars  (so  much 

Like  life  his  gently  closing  lids  and  smile)  ; 
Then  felt  upon  his  heart.     Ah  !  to  that  touch 

Responds  no  quivering  pulse  :  'tis  past.     Then  burst 
Her  grief  thus  from  her  inmost  heart  that  bleeds  :  — 

"  Nay,  finish,  fiend  unpitying  and  accurst ! 

Finish,  and  rid  me  too  of  life,  and  of  thy  deeds  ! " 

cm. 

She  hid  her  face  in  both  her  hands ;  and  when, 
At  length,  looked  up,  a  form  was  bending  o'er 

The  good,  the  beauteous  boy.     With  piteous  ken 
It  sought  her  eye,  but  still  to  speak  forbore. 


7O  ZOPHIEL. 

CIV. 

A  deep  unutterable  anguish  kept 

The  silence  long ;  then  from  his  inmost  breast 
The  spirit  spoke  :   "  Oh  !  were  I  him  so  wept, 

Daughter  of  earth,  I  tell  thee,  I  were  blest. 

cv. 

"  Couldst  thou  conceive  but  half  the  pain  I  bear, 
Or  agent  of  what  good  I  fain  would  be, 

I  had  not — added  to  my  deep  despair 

And  heavy  curse  —  another  curse  from  thee. 

cvi. 

"  I've  loved  the  youth  since  first  to  this  vile  court 
I  followed  thee  from  the  deserted  cave. 

I  saw  him  in  thy  arms,  and  did  not  hurt : 

What  could  I  more  ?     Alas  !  I  could  not  save. 

CVII. 

"  He  died  of  love,  —  of  the  o'er-perfect  joy 
Of  being  pitied,  prayed  for,  prest  by  thee  ! 

Oh  !  for  the  fate  of  that  devoted  boy 
I'd  sell  my  birthright  to  eternity  ! 

CVIII. 

"  I'm  not  the  cause  of  this  thy  last  distress. 

Nay  !  look  upon  thy  spirit  ere  he  flies  ! 
Look  on  me  once,  and  learn  to  hate  me  less," 

He  said ;  and  tears  i~ell  fast  from  his  immortal  eyes. 


DEATH    OF    ALTHEETOR. 
CIX. 

Her  looks  were  on  the  corse.     No  more  he  said. 

Deeper  the  darkness  grew  ;  'twas  near  the  dawn  : 
And  chilled  and  sorrowing  through  the  air  he  sped, 

And  in  Hircania's  deepest  shades,  ere  morn, 

Was  hidden  'mid  the  leaves.     Low  moaned  the  blast, 
And  chilly  mists  obscured  the  rising  sun  : 

So  bitter  were  his  tears,  that,  where  he  past, 
Was  blighted  every  flower  they  fell  upon. 

ex. 

Wild  was  the  place,  but  wilder  his  despair : 

Low  shaggy  rocks  that  o'er  deep  caverns  scowl 

Echo  his  groans  :  the  tigress  in  her  lair 

Starts  at  the  sound,  and  answers  with  a  growl. 

CXI. 

The  day  wore  on  :  the  tide  of  transport  through, 
He  listened  to  the  forest's  murmuring  sound, 

Until  his  grief  alleviation  drew 

From  the  according  horrors  that  surround. 

CXII. 

And  thus  at  length  his  plaintive  lip  expressed 
The  mitigated  pang  :  'tis  sometimes  so 

When  grief  meets  genius  in  the  mortal  breast, 

And  words  most  deeply  sweet  betray  subsided  woe. 


72  Z6PHIKL. 


CXIII. 


"  Thou'rt  gone,  Altheetor  :  of  thy  gentle  breath 
Guiltless  am  I,  but  bear  the  penalty  ! 

Oh  !  is  there  one  to  whom  thy  early  death 
Can  cause  the  sorrow  it  has  caused  to  me  ? 


cxiv. 


"  Cold,  cold,  and  hushed,  is  that  fond,  faithful  breast : 
Oh  !  of  the  breath  of  God  too  much  was  there  ! 

It  swelled,  aspired  ;  it  could  not  be  comprest, 
But  gained  a  bliss  frail  nature  could  not  bear. 


cxv. 


"  O  good  and  true  beyond  thy  mortal  birth  ! 

What  high-souled  angel  helped  in  forming  thee  ? 
Haply  thou  wert  what  I  had  been,  if  earth 

Had  been  the  element  composing  me. 

CXVI. 

"  Banished  from  heaven  so  long,  what  there  transpires 
This  weary  exiled  ear  may  rarely  meet. 

But  it  is  whispered  that  the  Unquelled  desires 
Another  Spirit  for  each  forfeit  seat 

"  Left  vacant  by  our  fall.     That  Spirit  placed 

In  mortal  form  must  every  trial  bear 
'Midst  all  that  can  pollute  ;  and,  if  defaced 

But  by  one  stain,  it  may  not  enter  there. 


DEATH    OF    ALTHEETOR.  73 

CXVII. 

"  Though  all  the  earth  is  winged,  from  bound  to  bound ; 

Though  heaven  desires,  and  angels  watch  and  pray, 
To  see  their  ranks  with  fair  completion  crowned,  — 
So  few  to  bless  their  utmost  search  are  found, 

That  half  in  heaven  have  ceased  to  hope  the  day ; 
And  pensive  seraphs'  sighs  o'er  heavenly  harps  resound. 

CXVIII. 

"  And  when,  long  wandering  from  his  blissful  height, 
One  like  to  thee  some  quick-eyed  Spirit  views, 

He  springs  to  heaven,  more  radiant  from  delight, 

And  heaven's  blue  domes  ring  loud  with  rapture  at  the 
news. 

CXIX. 

"  Yet  oft  the  being  by  all  heaven  beloved 
(So  doubtful  every  good  in  world  like  this) 

Some  fiend  corrupts  ere  ripe  to  be  removed, 

And  tears  are  seen  in  eyes  made  but  to  float  in  bliss. 

cxx. 

"Thou'lt  take,  perchance,  Altheetor,  (who  so  pure 
That  may  if  thou  mayst  not?)  'mid  the  bright  throng, 

My  high,  my  forfeit  place  :  love  would  secure 
Its  prize,  so  killed  thee  ere  below  too  long. 

CXXI. 

"  Decay  shall  ne'er  thy  perfect  form  defile, 

Nor  hungry  flame  consume.     In  dews  I'll  steep 


74  ZOPHIEL. 

Thy  limbs,  and  thou  shalt  look  upon  the  pile 
As  gentle  as  a  maiden  fallen  asleep 

"  'Mid  musings  of  ideal  bliss,  and  making 
Of  her  wild  hopes,  lit  up  by  fancy's  beam, 

A  fairer  lover  than  may  woo  her  waking, 

Blest  to  her  wish  alone  in  soft  ecstatic  dream. 

CXXII. 

"  And  I  will  steal  thee,  when  the  perfumes  rise 

Around  the  cassia-wood  in  smoky  wave  : 
I'll  shroud  thee  in  a  mist  from  mortal  eyes, 

And  gently  lay  thee  in  some  sparry  cave 

"  Of  Paros  ;  there  seek  out  some  kindly  Gnome, 
And  see  him  ('mid  his  lamps  of  airy  light), 

By  wondrous  process  done  in  earth's  dark  womb, 

Change  thee,   smile,  lip,  hair,  all,  to  marble  pure  and 
white. 

CXXIII. 

"  O  my  loved  Hyacinth  !  when  as  a  god 

I  hurled  the  disk,  and  from  thy  hapless  head 

The  pure  sweet  blood  made  flowers  upon  the  sod, 
'Twas  thus  I  wept  thee,  —  beautiful,  but  dead, 

"  Like  all  I've  loved  !  —  Oriel,  false  fiend,  thy  breath 
Guided  my  weapon  :  come  !  most  happy  thou 

If  my  pain  please.     I  mourn  another  death  : 

Come  with   thy  insect  wings  ;    I'll   hear  thy  mockery 
now. 


DEATH   OF    ALTHEETOR.  75 


CXXIV. 


"  Thou  didst  not  change  his  blood  to  purple  flowers ; 

Thy  poisonous  breath  can  blight,  but  not  create  : 
Thou  canst  but  hover  o'er  Phraerion's  bowers, 

And  claim  of  men  the  honors  of  his  state. 

cxxv. 

"  Thou  kill'st  my  Hyacinth ;  but  yet  a  beam 
Of  comfort  still  was  mine  :  I  saw  preserved 

His  beauty  all  entire,  and  gave  a  gleam 

Of  him  to  a  young  burning  Greek.     So  served 

"  Thy  crime  a  worthy  cause  :  for,  long  inspired 
With  a  consuming  wish,  that  Grecian's  heart, 

Lost  to  repose,  so  caught  what  it  desired  ; 

And  soon  the  chiselled  stone  glowed  with  a  wondrous 
art." 

CXXVI. 

While  thus  the  now  half-solaced  Zdphiel  brings 
Food  to  his  soul,  passed  o'er  his  gloomier  mood  : 

He  shakes  his  ringlets,  spreads  his  pinions,  springs 
From  that  rude  seat,  and  leaves  the  mazy  wood. 

CXXVII. 

That  morn  o'er  Ecbatane  rose  pale  and  slow : 

Thick  lingering  night-damps  clog  the  morning's  breath, 

And  veiled  the  sun  that  rose  with  bloody  glow, 

As  if  great  Nature's  heart  bled  for  the  recent  death. 


76  ZOPHIEL. 

CXXVIII. 

White-haired  Idaspes  from  the  fatal  room 

Bade  his  own  slaves  love's  loveliest  victim  bring,  — 

Fresh,  fair,  but  cold,  —  and  in  that  lurid  gloom 

Set  forth  the  funeral  couch,  and  showed  him  to  the 
king ; 

CXXIX. 

And  drew  away  the  tunic  from  the  scar 

Seen  on  his  cold  white  breast.     "  And  is  it  thou?  " 

He  said  :  "  when  Treachery  wings  her  darts  afar, 
What  faithful  heart  will  be  presented  now? 

cxxx. 

"  Alas  !  alas  !  that  ever  these  old  eyes 

Should  see  Altheetor  thus  !     Where  is  there  one, 

When  lowly  in  the  earth  Idaspes  lies, 

Will  love  and  guard  his  prince  as  thou  hast  done  ?  " 

cxxxi. 

Sardius  believed  he  slept ;  but,  undeceived, 
Soon  as  he  found  that  faithful  heart  was  cold, 

He  turned  away  his  radiant  brow,  and  grieved, 
And  at  that  moment  freely  would  have  sold 

cxxxn. 

The  diadem,  that  from  his  locks  he  tore, 

For  that  one  life.     Idaspes  watched  his  mood, 


DEATH    OF    ALTHEETOR.  77 

And  (ere  the  first  fierce  burst  of  grief  was  o'er, 
While  lost  Altheetor's  every  pulse)  pursued 

With  guardian  skill  the  kindly  deep  design  : 

He  probed  the  king's  light  changeful  heart,  and  gained 

A  promise  that  the  maid  of  Palestine, 

Until  twelve  moons  had  o'er  his  garden  waned, 

Should  live  in  banishment  from  court.     So,  sent 
To  muse  in  peace  upon  her  unknown  love 

(So  long  announced),  dejected  Egla  went 
With  all  her  house,  and  seeks  her  own  acacia-grove. 

CUBA:  PUEBLO  NUEVO,  June,  1827. 


CANTO   THIRD. 


PALACE     OF     GNOMES. 


ARGUMENT. 

Midnight.  —  Zdphiel  and  Phraerion  sit  conversing  together  near  a  ruin  on 
the  banks  of  the  Tigris.  —  Z6phiel  laments  his  former  crimes  ;  speaks 
of  a  change  in  his  designs ;  dwells  on  the  purity  of  his  love  for  Egla  ; 
and  expresses  a  wish  to  preserve  her  life  and  beauty  beyond  the  period 
allotted  to  mortals.  —  Phracrion  is  induced  to  lead  the  way  to  the  palace 
of  Tahathyam.  —  Palace  and  banquet  of  Gnomes. — Zophiel,  by  force 
of  entreaty  and  promise,  obtains  from  Tahathyam  a  drop  of  the  elixir  of 
life. 


PALACE  OF  GNOMES. 


Tis  now  the  hour  of  mirth,  the  hour  of  love, 

The  hour  of  melancholy  :  Night,  as  vain 
Of  her  full  beauty,  seems  to  pause  above, 

That  all  may  look  upon  her  ere  it  wane. 

ii. 

The  heavenly  angel  watched  his  subject  star, 
O'er  all  that's  good  and  fair  benignly  smiling : 

The  sighs  of  wounded  love  he  hears  from  far ; 

Weeps  that  he  cannot  heal,  and  wafts  a  hope  beguiling. 

in. 

The  nether  earth  looks  beauteous  as  a  gem  : 

High  o'er  her  groves  in  floods  of  moonlight  laving, 
The  towering  palm  displays  his  silver  stem, 

The  while  his  plumy  leaves  scarce  in  the  breeze  are 
waving. 

Si 


82 


IV. 


The  nightingale  among  his  roses  sleeps  ; 

The  soft-eyed  doe  in  thicket  deep  is  sleeping ; 
The  dark-green  myrrh  her  tears  of  fragrance  weeps  ; 

And  every  odorous  spike  in  limpid  dew  is  steeping. 


Proud  prickly  cerea,  now  thy  blossom  'scapes 
Its  cell,  brief  cup  of  light,  and  seems  to  say,  — 

"  I  am  not  for  gross  mortals  :  blood  of  grapes, 

And  sleep,  for  them  !  —  Come,  Spirits,  while  ye  may  1  " 

VI. 

A  silent  stream  winds  darkly  through  the  shade, 
And  slowly  gains  the  Tigris,  where  'tis  lost. 

By  a  forgotten  prince  of  old  'twas  made, 

And,  in  its  course,  full  many  a  fragment  crost 

Of  marble  fairly  carved  ;  and  by  its  side 
Her  golden  dust  the  flaunting  lotus  threw 

O'er  her  white  sisters,  throned  upon  the  tide, 

And  queen  of  every  flower  that  loves  perpetual  dew. 

VII. 

Gold-sprinkling  lotus,  theme  of  many  a  song 

By  slender  Indian  warbled  to  his  fair  ! 
Still  tastes  the  stream  thy  rosy  kiss,  though  long 

Has  been  but  dust  the  hand  that  placed  thee  there. 


PALACE    OF    GNOMES.  83 


VIII. 


The  little  temple  where  its  relics  rest 

Long  since  has  fallen  :  its  broken  columns  lie 

Beneath  the  lucid  wave,  and  give  its  breast 
A  whitened  glimmer  as  'tis  stealing  by. 


IX. 


Here  cerea,  too,  thy  clasping  mazes  twine 

The  only  pillar  time  has  left  erect : 
Thy  serpent  arms  embrace  it  as  'twere  thine, 

And  roughly  mock  the  beam  it  should  reflect. 

x. 

An  ancient  prince,  in  happy  madness  blest, 
Was  wont  to  wander  to  this  spot,  and  deemed 

A  water-nymph  came  to  him,  and  carest 

And  loved  him  well :  haply  he  only  dreamed. 

But  on  the  spot  a  little  dome  arose, 

And  flowers  were  set  that  still  in  wildness  bloom 
And  the  cold  ashes  that  were  him  repose 

Carefully  shrined  in  this  lone  ivory  tomb. 

XI. 

It  is  a  place  so  strangely  wild  and  sweet, 
That  spirits  love  to  come  ;  and  now  upon 

A  moonlight  fragment  Zophiel  chose  his  seat, 
In  converse  close  with  soft  Phraerion, 


84  ZOPHIEL. 


XII. 


Who  on  the  moss  beside  him  lies  reclining, 

O'erstrewn  with  leaves  from  full-blown  roses  shaken 

By  nightingales,  that,  on  their  branches  twining, 
The  livelong  night  to  love  and  music  waken. 


XIII. 


Phraerion,  gentle  Sprite  !  nor  force  nor  fire 
He  had  to  wake  in  others  doubt  or  fear : 

He'd  hear  a  tale  of  bliss,  and  not  aspire 

To  taste  himself;  'twas  meet  for  his  compeer. 


XIV. 


No  soul-creative  in  this  being  born 
Its  restless,  daring,  fond  aspirings  hid : 

Within  the  vortex  of  rebellion  drawn, 

He  joined  the  shining  ranks  —  as  others  did. 


xv. 


Success  but  little  had  advanced ;  defeat 

He  thought  so  little,  scarce  to  him  were  worse ; 

And,  as  he'd  held  in  heaven  inferior  seat, 
Less  was  his  bliss,  and  lighter  was  his  curse. 


XVI. 


He  formed  no  plans  for  happiness  ;  content 
To  curl  the  tendril,  fold  the  bud ;  his  pain 

So  light,  he  scarcely  felt  his  banishment. 

Zdphiel,  perchance,  had  held  him  in  disdain ; 


PALACE    OF    GNOMES.  85 

But,  formed  for  friendship,  from  his  o'erfraught  soul 
Twas  such  relief  his  burning  thoughts  to  pour 

In  other  ears,  that  oft  the  strong  control 

Of  pride  he  felt  them  burst,  and  could  restrain  no  more. 

Zdphiel  was  soft,  but  yet  all  flame  :  by  turns 
Love,  grief,  remorse,  shame,  pity,  jealousy, 

Each  boundless  in  his  breast,  impels  or  burns : 
His  joy  was  bliss,  his  pain  was  agony. 

And  mild  Phraerion  was  of  heaven  ;  and  there 

Nothing  imperfect  in  its  kind  can  be  : 
There  every  form  is  fresh,  soft,  bright,  and  fair, 

Yet  differing  each  with  that  variety  — 

Not  least  of  miracles  —  which  here  we  trace, 
And  wonder,  and  admire  the  cause  that  formed 

So  like,  and  yet  so  different  every  face, 

Though   of  the    selfsame    clay,  by  the   same   process 
warmed. 

XVII. 

"Order  is  heaven's  first  law."     But  that  obeyed, 
The  planets  fixed,  the  Eternal  Mind,  at  leisure, 

A  vast  profusion  spread  o'er  all  it  made, 

As  if  in  endless  change  were  found  eternal  pleasure. 

xvin. 

Harmless  Phraerion,  formed  to  dwell  on  high, 
Retained  the  looks  that  had  been  his  above ; 


86  ZOPHIEL. 

And  his  harmonious  lip  and  sweet  blue  eye 

Soothed   the   fallen   seraph's   heart,  and   changed  his 
scorn  to  love ; 

Who,  when  he  saw  him  in  some  garden  pleasant, 
Happy,  because  too  little  thought  had  he 

To  place  in  contrast  past  delight  with  present, 
Had  given  his  soul  of  fire  for  that  inanity. 


XIX. 

But,  oh  !  in  him  the  Eternal  had  infused 
The  restless  soul  that  doth  itself  devour, 

Unless  it  can  create  ;  and  fallen,  misused, 

But  forms  the  vast  design  to  mourn  the  feeble  power. 


xx. 

In  plenitude  of  love,  the  Power  benign 
Nearer  itself  some  beings  fain  would  lift, 

To  share  its  joys,  assist  its  vast  design 

With  high  intelligence  :  oh  dangerous  gift  ! 


XXI. 

Superior  passion,  knowledge,  force,  and  fire 

The  glorious  creatures  took  ;  but  each,  the  slave 

Of  his  own  strength,  soon  burnt  with  wild  desire, 
And  basely  turned  it  'gainst  the  hand  that  gave. 


PALACE    OF    GNOMES.  8/ 


XXII. 


But  Zophiel,  fallen  sufferer,  now  no  more 

Thought  of  the  past :  the  aspiring  voice  was  mute 

That  urged  him  on  to  meet  his  doom  before, 
And  all  dissolved  to  love  each  varied  attribute. 


XXIII. 


"  Come,  my  Phraerion,  give  me  an  embrace  ! " 

He  said.     "  I  hope  a  respite  of  repose 
Like  that  respiring  from  thy  sunny  face,  — 

Even  the  peace  thy  guileless  bosom  knows. 

XXIV. 

"  Rememberest  thou  that  cave  of  Tigris,  where 
We  went  with  fruits  and  flowers  and  meteor  light, 

And  the  fair  creature,  on  the  damp  rock,  there 

Shivering  and  trembling  so  ?  Ah  !  well  she  might ! 

"  False  were  my  words,  infernal  my  intent, 
Then,  as  I  knelt  before  her  feet,  and  sued ; 

Yet  still  she  blooms,  uninjured,  innocent, 

Though  now  for  seven  long  months  by  Zophiel  watched 
and  wooed  ! 

XXV. 

"  Gentle  Phraerion,  'tis  for  her  I  crave 

Assistance  :  what  I  could  have  blighted  then 

Tis  now  my  only  care  to  guard  and  save ; 
Companion,  then,  my  airy  flight  again. 


88  ZOPHIEL. 


XXVI. 


"  Conduct  me  to  those  hoards  of  sweets  and  de\vs 
Treasured  —  in  haunts  to  all  but  thee  unknown  — 

For  favorite  Sprites  ;  teach  me  their  power  and  use 
And  whatso'er  thou  wilt  of  Zophiel  be  it  done  ! 


XXVII. 


"Throughout  fair  Ecbatane  the  deeds  I've  wrought 
Have  cast  such  dread,  that  of  all  Sardius'  train 

I  doubt  if  there  be  one,  from  tent  or  court, 

Who'll  try  what  'tis  to  thwart  a  Spirit's  love  again. 


XXVIII. 


"  My  Egla,  left  in  her  acacia-grove, 

Has  learnt  to  lay  aside  that  piteous  fear 

That  sorrowed  thee  ;  and  I  but  live  to  prove 
A  love  for  her  as  harmless  as  sincere. 


XXIX. 

"  Inspirer  of  the  arts  of  Greece,  I  charm 
Her  ear  with  songs  she  never  heard  before ; 

And  many  an  hour  of  thoughtfulness  disarm 

With  stories  culled  from  that  vague,  wondrous  lore 

"  But  seldom  told  to  mortals,  — arts  on  gems 
Inscribed  that  still  exist ;  but  hidden  so, 

From  fear  of  those  who  told,  that  diadems 

Have  passed  from  brows  that  vainly  ached  to  know 


PALACE    OF    GNOMES.  89 

"  Nor  glimpse  had  mortal,  save  that  those  fair  things, 

Loved  ages  past  like  her  I  now  adore, 
Caught  from  their  Angels  some  low  whisperings, 

Then  told  of  them  to  such  as  dared  not  tell  them 


"  But  toiled  in  lonely  nooks  far  from  the  eye 

Of  shuddering,  longing  men  ;  then,  buried  deep, 

Till  distant  ages  bade  their  secrets  lie, 

In  hopes  that  time  might  tell  what  their  dread  oaths 
must  keep. 

XXX. 

"  Egla  looks  on  me  doubtful,  but  amused  ; 

Admires,  but,  trembling,  dares  not  bid  me  stay  : 
Yet  hour  by  hour  her  timid  heart  more  used 

Grows  to  my  sight  and  words ;  and  when  a  day 

I  leave  her,  for  my  needful  cares,  at  leisure 

To  muse  upon  and  feel  her  lonely  state, 
At  my  returning,  though  restrained  her  pleasure, 

There  needs  no  Spirit's  eye  to  see  she  does  not  hate. 


XXXI. 

"  Oft  have  I  looked  in  mortal  hearts  to  know 
How  Love,  by  slow  advances,  knows  to  twine 

Each  fibre  with  his  wreaths,  then  overthrow 

At  once  each  stern  resolve.     The  maiden's  mine  ! 


C)O  z6PHtEL. 

"  Yet  have  I  never  pressed  her  ermine  hand, 

Nor  touched  the  living  coral  of  her  lip  ; 
Though,  listening  to  its  tones,  so  sweet,  so  bland, 

I've   thought  —  oh   impious   thought !  —  who    formed 
might  sip  ! 

XXXII. 

"  Most  impious  thought !     Soul,  I  would  rein  thee  in, 
E'en  as  the  quick-eyed  Parthian  quells  his  steeds ; 

But  thou  wilt  start,  and  rise,  and  plunge  in  sin, 

Till  gratitude  weeps  out,  and  wounded  reason  bleeds. 

XXXIII. 

"  Soul,  what  a  mystery  thou  art !  not  one 
Admires,  or  loves,  or  worships  virtue,  more 

Than  I  :  but  passion  hurls  me  on,  till,  torn 

By  keen  remorse,  I  cool,  to  curse  me  and  deplore. 

xxxiv. 

"  But  to  my  theme.     Now  in  the  stilly  night 
I  hover  o'er  her  fragrant  couch,  and  sprinkle 

Sweet  dews  about  her,  as  she  slumbers  light,  — 

Dews  sought  with  toil,  beneath  the  pale  stars'  twinkle, 

"  From  plants  of  secret  virtue.     All  for  lust 

Too  high  and  pure  my  bliss  :  her  gentle  breath 

I  hear,  inhale,  then  weep  (for,  oh  !  she  must ; 
That  form  is  mortal,  and  must  sleep  in  death). 


PALACE    OF    GNOMES.  QI 


XXXV. 


"  And  oft,  when  nature  pants,  and  the  thick  air, 
Charged  with  foul  particles,  weighs  sluggish  o'er, 

I  breathe  them  all  :  that  deep  disgust  I  bear, 
To  leave  a  fluid  pure  and  sane  for  her. 

xxxvi. 

"  How  dear  is  this  employ  !  how  innocent ! 

My  soul's  wild  elements  forbear  their  strife ; 
While,  on  these  harmless  cares  pleased  and  intent, 

I  hope  to  save  her  beauty  and  her  life 

"  For  many  a  rapturous  year.     But  mortal  ne'er 
Shall  hold  her  to  his  heart :  to  me  confined, 

Her  soul  must  glow ;  nor  ever  shall  she  bear 
That  mortal  fruit  for  which  her  form's  designed. 

XXXVII. 

"  No  grosser  blood,  commingling  with  her  own, 
Shall  ever  make  her  mother.     Oh  !  that  mild, 

Sad  glance  I  love,  that  lip,  that  melting  tone, 
Shall  ne'er  be  given  to  any  mortal's  child. 

XXXVIII. 

"  But  only  for  her  Spirit  shall  she  live, 

Unsoiled  by  earth,  fresh,  chaste,  and  innocent ; 

And  all  a  Spirit  dares,  or  can,  I'll  give  : 

And  sure  I  thus  can  make  her  far  more  blest, 


92  ZOPHIEL. 

"  Framed  as  she  is,  than  mortal  love  could  do : 
For  more  than  mortal's  to  this  creature  given 

She's  spirit  more  than  half;  her  beauty's  hue 
Is  of  the  sky,  and  speaks  my  native  heaven. 


XXXIX. 

"  But  the  night  wanes  :  while  all  is  bright  above," 
He  said,  —  and  round  Phraerion,  nearer  drawn, 

One  beauteous  arm  he  flung,  —  "  first  to  my  love  : 
We'll  see  her  safe  ;  then  to  our  task  till  dawn." 


XL. 

'Tis  often  thus  with  Spirits,  when  retired 
Afar  from  haunts  of  men  :  so  they  delight 

To  move  in  their  own  beauteous  forms  attired  ; 

Though  like  thin  shades  or  air  they  mock  dull  mortals' 
sight. 

XI.I. 

Well  pleased  Phraerion  answered  that  embrace ; 

All  balmy  he  with  thousand  breathing  sweets 
From  thousand  dewy  flowers.     "But  to  what  place," 

He  said,  "will  Zdphiel  go?  who  danger  greets 

"  As  if  'twere  peace.     The  Palace  of  the  Gnome, 
Tahathyam,  for  our  purpose  most  were  meet ; 

But  then  the  wave  so  cold  and  fierce,  the  gloom, 
The  whirlpools,  rocks  that  guard  that  deep  retreat ! 


PALACE    OF    GNOMES.  93 

"  Yet  there  are  fountains  which  no  sunny  ray 

E'er  danced  upon  ;  and  drops  come  there  at  last 
Which  for  whole  ages,  filtering  all  the  way, 

Through  all  the  veins  of  earth  in  winding  maze  have 
passed. 

XLII. 

"  These  take  from  mortal  beauty  every  stain, 
And  smooth  the  unseemly  lines  of  age  and  pain, 

With  every  wondrous  efficacy  rife  : 
Nay,  once  a  Spirit  whispered  of  a  draught, 
Of  which  a  drop,  by  any  mortal  quaffed, 

Would  save  for  terms  of  years  his  feeble  flickering  life." 


"  A  Spirit  told  thee  it  would  save  from  death 

The  being  who  should  taste  that  drop  ?     Is't  so  ? 

0  dear  Phraerion  !  for  another  breath 

We  have  not  time  !     Come,  follow  me  :  we'll  go 

"And  take  one  look ;  then  guide  me  to  the  track 
Of  the  Gnome's  palace.     There  is  not  a  blast 

To  stir  the  sea-flower :  we  will  go  and  back 

Ere  morn.     Nay,  come  :  the  night  is  wasting  fast." 

XLIV. 

"  My  friend,  O  Zophiel  !  only  once  I  went : 

Then,  though  bold  Antreon  bore  me,  such  the  pain, 

1  came  back  to  the  air  so  racked  and  spent, 

That  for  a  whole  sweet  moon  I  had  no  joy  again. 


94  ZOPHIEL. 


XLV. 


"What  sayst  thou?  —  back  at  morn?     The  night,  a  clay 

And  half  the  night  that  follows  it,  alas  ! 
Were  time  too  little  for  that  fearful  way  ; 

And  then  such  depths,  such  caverns,  we  must  pass  ! " 


XLVI. 

"  Nothing,  beloved  Phraerion  !     I  know  how 

To  brave  such  risks,  and,  first-,  the  path  will  break, 

As  oft  I've  done  in  water-depths ;  and  thou 
Need'st  only  follow  through  the  way  I  make." 

XLVII. 

The  soft  Flower-Spirit  shuddered,  looked  on  high, 
And  from  his  bolder  brother  would  have  fled  ; 

But  then  the  anger  kindling  in  that  eye 
He  could  not  bear.     So  to  fair  Egla's  bed 

Followed,  and  looked  ;  then,  shuddering  all  with  dread, 

To  wondrous  realms  unknown  to  men  lie  led  ; 

Continuing  long  in  sunset  course  his  flight, 

Until  for  flowery  Sicily  he  bent ; 
Then,  where  Italia  smiled  upon  the  night, 

Between   their  nearest  shores  chose  midway  his  de 
scent. 

XLVIII. 

The  sea  was  calm,  and  the  reflected  moon 
Still  trembled  on  its  surface  :  not  a  breath 

Curled  the  broad  mirror.     Night  had  past  her  noon. 
How  soft  the  air  !  how  cold  the  depths  beneath  ! 


PALACE    OF    GNOMES.  95 


XLIX. 


The  Spirits  hover  o'er  that  surfece  smooth  ; 

ZophieTs  white  arm  around  Phraerion  twined 
In  fond  caress,  his  tender  fears  to  soothe  ; 

While  cither's  nearer  wins:  the  other's  crossed  behind. 


Well  pleased,  Phraerion  half  forgot  his  dread, 

And  first,  with  foot  as  white  as  lotus-leaf, 
The  sleepy  surface  of  the  waves  essayed  ; 

But  then  his  smile  of  love  gave  place  to  drops  of  grief. 

LI. 

How  could  he  for  that  fluid  dense  and  chill 

Change  the  sweet  floods  of  air  they  floated  on? 

E'en  at  a  touch  his  shrinking  fibres  thrill ; 
But  ardent  Zdphiel,  panting,  hurries  on, 

And  (catching  his  mild  brother's  tears,  with  lip 
That  whispered  courage  'twixt  each  glowing  kiss) 

Persuades  to  plunge  :  limbs,  wings,  and  locks  they  dip  : 
Whate'er  the  other's  pains,  the  lover  felt  but  bliss. 

in. 

Quickly  he  draws  Phraerion  on,  his  toil 

Even  lighter  than  he  hoped  :  some  power  benign 

Seems  to  restrain  the  surges,  while  they  boil 
'Mid  crags  and  caverns,  as  of  his  design 


96  2OPHIEL. 

Respectful.     That  black,  bitter  element, 

As  if  obedient  to  his  wish,  gave  way  : 
So,  comforting  Phraerion,  on  he  went ; 

And  a  high  craggy  arch  they  reach  at  dawn  of  day, 

Upon  the  upper  world  ;  and  forced  them  through 
That  arch  the  thick,  cold  floods,  with  such  a  roar 

That  the  bold  Sprite  receded,  and  would  view 
The  cave  before  he  ventured  to  explore. 

i. in. 

Then,  fearful  lest  his  frighted  guide  might  part, 
And  not  be  missed,  amid  such  strife  and  din, 

He  strained  him  closer  to  his  burning  heart, 
And,  trusting  to  his  strength,  rushed  fiercely  in. 

LIV. 

On,  on,  for  many  a  weary  mile  they  fare, 

Till  thinner  grew  the  floods,  long,  dark,  and  dense, 

From  nearness  to  earth's  core  ;  and  now  a  glare 
Of  grateful  light  relieved  their  piercing  sense  ; 

As  when,  above,  the  sun  his  genial  streams 

Of  warmth  and  light  darts  mingling  with  the  waves 

Whole  fathoms  down  ;  while,  amorous  of  his  beams, 
Each  scaly  monstrous  thing  leaps  from  its  slimy  caves. 


And  now  Phraerion,  with  a  tender  cry,  — 
Far  sweeter  than  the  land-bird's  note,  afar 


PALACE    OF    GNOMES.  97 

Heard  through  the  azure  arches  of  the  sky, 
By  the  long-baffled,  storm-worn  mariner,  — 

"  Hold,  Zdphiel  !  rest  thee  now  :  our  task  is  done. 

Tahathyam's  realms  alone  can  give  this  light  ! 
Oh  !  though  'tis  not  the  life-awakening  sun, 

How  sweet  to  see  it  break  upon  such  fearful  night ! " 


Clear  grew  the  wave,  and  thin ;  a  substance  white 
The  wide  expanding  cavern  floors  and  flanks  : 

Could  one  have  looked  from  high,  how  fair  the  sight ! 
Like  these  the  dolphin  on  Bahaman  banks 

Cleaves  the  warm  fluid  in  his  rainbow  tints, 
While  even  his  shadow  on  the  sands  below 

Is  seen,  as  through  the  waves  he  glides  and  glints 

Where  lies   the   polished    shell,  and  branching  corals 
grow. 

LVII. 

No  massive  gate  impedes ;  the  waves  in  vain 
Might  strive  against  the  air  to  break  or  fall ; 

And,  at  the  portal  of  that  strange  domain, 

A  clear,  bright  curtain  seemed,  or  crystal  wall. 

LVIII. 

The  Spirits  pass  its  bounds,  but  would  not  far 
Tread  the  slant  pavement,  like  unbidden  guest ; 

The  while,  on  either  side,  a  bower  of  spar 
Gave  invitation  for  a  moment's  rest. 


9$  Z6PHIEL. 

LIX. 

And,  deep  in  either  bower,  a  little  throne 
Looked  so  fantastic,  it  were  hard  to  know 

If  busy  Nature  fashioned  it  alone, 

Or  found  some  curious  artist  here  below. 


Soon  spoke  Phraerion  :  "  Come,  Tahathyam,  come  ! 

Thou  knowest  me  well.     I  saw  thee  once  to  love, 
And  bring  a  guest  to  view  thy  sparkling  dome, 

Who  comes  full  fraught  with  tidings  from  above." 


LXI. 

Those  gentle  tones,  angelically  clear, 

Past  from  his  lips,  in  mazy  depths  retreating 

(As  if  that  bower  had  been  the  cavern's  ear) 
Full  many  a  stadia  far,  and  kept  repeating 

As  through  the  perforated  rock  they  pass, 
Echo  to  echo  guiding  them  :   their  tone 

(As  just  from  the  sweet  Spirit's  lip)  at  last 
Tahathyam  heard,  where  on  a  glittering  throne 

He  solitary  sat.     Twas  many  a  year 

Ere  such  delightful,  grateful  sound  had  blest 

His  pleasured  sense  ;  and  with  a  starting  tear, 
Half  joy,  half  grief,  he  rose  to  greet  his  guest : 


PALACE    OF    GNOMES. 


LXII. 


First  sending  through  the  rock  an  answering  strain 
To  give  both  Spirits  welcome  where  they  wait, 

And  bid  them  haste  ;  for  he  might  strive  in  vain, 
Half-mortal  as  he  was,  to  reach  that  gate 


For  many  a  day.     But  in  the  bower  they  hear 
His  bidding,  and,  from  cumbrous  matter  free, 

Arose,  and  to  his  princely  home  came  near 
With  such  spiritual  strange  velocity, 


They  met  him,  just  as  by  his  palace-door 

The  Gnome  appeared,  with  all  his  band,  elate 

In  the  display  of  his  resplendent  store 
To  such  as  knew  his  father's  high  estate. 


LXIII. 

His  sire,  a  Seraph,  framed  to  dwell  above, 
Had  lightly  left  his  pure  and  blissful  home 

To  taste  the  blandishments  of  mortal  love  ; 
And  from  that  lowly  union  sprang  the  Gnome, 


Tahathyam,  first  of  his  compeers,  and  best : 
He  looked  like  heaven,  fair  semi-earthly  thing  ! 

The  rest  were  born  of  many  a  maid  carest 
After  his  birth,  and  chose  him  for  their  king. 


IOO  ZOPHIEL. 

LXIV. 

He  sat  upon  a  car  (and  the  large  pearl 

Once  cradled  in  it  glimmered,  now,  without) 

Bound  midway  on  two  serpents'  backs,  that  curl 
In  silent  swiftness  as  he  glides  about. 


A  shell,  'twas  first  in  liquid  amber  wet ; 

Then,  ere  the  fragrant  cement  hardened  round, 
All  o'er  with  large  and  precious  stones  'twas  set 

By  skilful  Tsaveven,  or  made  or  found. 


The  reins  seemed  pliant  crystal  (but  their  strength 
Had  matched  his  earthly  mother's  silken  band), 

And,  flecked  with  rubies,  flowed  in  ample  length 
Like  sparkles  o'er  Tahathyam's  beauteous  hand. 

LXVII. 

The  reptiles,  in  their  fearful  beauty,  drew, 

As  if  from  love,  like  steeds  of  Araby : 
Like  blood  of  lady's  lip  their  scarlet  hue  ; 

Their  scales  so  bright  and  sleek,  'twas  pleasure  but  to 
see. 

LXVIII. 

With  open  mouths,  as  proud  to  show  the  bit. 

They  raise  their  heads,  and  arch  their  necks  (with  eye 

As  bright  as  if  with  meteor  fire  'twere  lit). 

And  dart  barbed  tongues  'twixt  fangs  of  ivory. 


PALACE    OF    GNOMES.  IOI 


LXIX. 


These,  when  the  quick-advancing  Sprites  they  saw 
Furl  their  swift  wings,  and  tread  with  angel  grace 

The  smooth  fair  pavement,  checked  their  speed  in  awe, 
And  glided  far  aside  as  if  to  give  them  space. 


LXX. 


The  Gnome  alighted  with  a  pleasing  pride, 
And,  in  like  guise,  to  meet  the  strangers  bent 

His  courteous  steps ;  the  while  on  either  side 
Fierce  Aishalat  and  Pshaamayim  went ; 

LXXI. 

Bright  Ramaour  followed  on,  in  order  meet ; 

Then  Nahalcoul  and  Zotzaraven,  best 
Beloved,  save  Rouamasak  of  perfume  sweet ; 

Then  Talhazak  and  Marmorak  :  the  rest, 

A  crowd  of  various  use  and  properties, 

Arranged  to  meet  their  monarch's  wishes,  vie 

In  seemly  show  to  please  the  strangers'  eyes, 

And  show  what  could  be  wrought  without  or  soil  or 
sky. 

LXXII. 

And  Zdphiel,  though  a  Spirit,  ne'er  had  seen 

The  like  before  ;  and,  for  he  had  to  ask 
A  boon  almost  as  dear  as  heaven,  his  mien 

Was  softness  all.     But  'twas  a  painful  task 


IO2  ZOPHIEL. 

To  his  impatience  thus  the  time  to  wait 
Due  to  such  welcome,  all  his  soul  possest 

With  thoughts  of  Egla's  lone,  unguarded  state ; 
While  still  he  smiled,  restraining  his  request. 


LXXIII. 

But  fond  Phraerion  looked  on  him,  and  knew 
How  Zdphiel  suffered  in  this  smooth  delay : 

So  toward  the  princely  Gnome  he  gently  drew 

To  tell  what  lured  them  to  these  depths  from  day ; 


And  said,  "  O  king  !  this  humble  offering  take  : 
How  hard  the  task  to  bring,  I  need  not  tell : 

Receive  the  poor,  poor  gift,  for  friendship's  sake  !  " 
Tahathyam  took  a  yellow  asphodel, 


A  deep-blue  lotus,  and  a  full  moss-rose, 

And  then  spoke  out,  "  My  Talhazak,  come  hither  ; 

Look  at  these  flowers,  cropt  where  the  sunbeam  glows  ; 
Crust  them  with  diamond  ;  never  let  them  wither  !  " 


LXXIV. 

Then  soon  Phraerion  :  "  Monarch,  if  'tis  truth 

Thou  hast  (and  that  'tis  false  sweet  powers  forfend  !) 

A  draught  whose  power  perpetuates  life  and  youth, 
Wilt  thou  bestow  one  drop  upon  my  friend  ?  " 


PALACE    OF    GNOMES.  1 03 

LXXV. 

Then  Zdphiel  could  no  more  withhold,  but  knelt, 
And  said,  "  O  sovereign  !  happier  far  than  I  ! 

Born  as  thou  wert,  and  in  earth's  entrails  pent, 
Though  once  I  shared  thy  father's  bliss  on  high. 

LXXVI. 

"  One  only  draught !  and  if  its  power  I  prove,  — 

•  By  thy  sweet  mother,  to  an  Angel  dear,  — 
Whate'er  thou  wilt,  of  all  the  world  above, 

Down  to  these  nether  realms  I'll  bring  thee  every  year. 

LXXVII. 

"Thy  tributary  slave,  I'll  scorn  the  pain, 

Though  storms  and  rocks  my  feeling  substance  tear. 

Tahathyam,  let  me  not  implore  in  vain  : 

Give  me  the  draught,  and  save  me  from  despair." 

LXXVIII. 

Tahathyam  paused,  as  if  the  bold  request 
He  liked  not  to  refuse,  nor  wished  to  grant ; 

Then,  after  much  revolving  in  his  breast,  — 
"What  of  this  cup  can  an  Immortal  want? 

LXXIX. 

"  My  Angel  sire  for  many  a  year  endured 
The  vilest  toils,  deep  hidden  in  the  ground, 

To  mix  this  drink  ;  nor  was't  at  last  procured 

Till  all  he  feared  had  happed  :  death's  sleep  profound 


IO4  Z6PHIEL. 

"  Seized  my  fair  mother.     I  had  shared  her  doom, 
Mortal,  like  her  he  held  than  heaven  more  dear ; 

But  by  his  chemic  arts  he  robbed  the  tomb, 
And  fixed  my  solitary  being  here, 

"  As  if  to  hide  from  the  Life-giver's  eye, 
Of  his  presumptuous  task,  untried  before, 

The  prized  success,  bidding  the  secret  lie 
Forever  here.     I  never  saw  him  more 

"  When  this  was  done.     Yet  what  avails  to  live, 
From  age  to  age,  thus  hidden  'neath  the  wave? 

Nor  life  nor  being  have  I  power  to  give  ; 
And  here,  alas  !  are  no  more  lives  to  save. 

LXXX. 

"  For  my  loved  father's  sight  in  vain  I  pine. 

Where  is  the  bright  Cephroniel?     Spirit,  tell 
But  how  he  fares,  and  what  thou  ask'st  is  thine." 

Fair  hope  from  Z<5phieTs  look  that  moment  fell. 

LXXXI. 

The  anxious  Gnome  observed,  and  soon  bethought 

How  far  his  exile  limited  his  will ; 
And,  half  divining  why  he  so  besought 

Gift  worthless  save  to  man,  continued  still 

His  speech  :  "  Thou  askest  much  :  should  I  impart, 
Spirit,  to  thee,  what  my  great  father  fain 

Would  hide  from  heaven,  and  what,  with  all  his  art, 
Even  the  second  power  desires  in  vain  ? 


PALACE    OF    GNOMES.  1 05 


LXXXII. 


"  All  long,  but  cannot  touch  :  a  sword  of  flame 
Guards  the  life-fruit  once  seen.     Yet,  Spirit,  know 

There  is  a  service  :  do  what  I  shall  name, 
And  let  the  danger  threaten  :  I'll  bestow. 


LXXX1II. 


"  But  first  partake  our  humble  banquet,  spread 
Within  these  rude  walls,  and  repose  a  while," 

He  said ;  and  to  the  sparry  portal  led 

And  ushered  his  fair  guests  with  hospitable  smile. 


LXXXIV. 


High  towered  the  palace  and  its  massive  pile, 
Made  dubious  if  of  nature  or  of  art, 

So  wild  and  so  uncouth ;  yet  all  the  while 

Shaped  to  strange  grace  in  every  varying  part. 


LXXXV. 


And  groves  adorned  it,  green  in  hue,  and  bright 

As  icicles  about  a  laurel-tree  ; 
And  danced  about  their  twigs  a  wondrous  light : 

Whence  came  that  light  so  far  beneath  the  sea  ? 


LXXXVI. 


Zophiel  looked  up  to  know ;  and,  to  his  view, 

Scarce  seemed  less  vast  than  day's  the  vault  that  bent 

In  lofty  arch,  its  soft,  receding  blue 

As  of  the  sky,  with  tender  cloudlets  sprent ; 


io6  ZOPHIEL. 

LXXXVII. 

And  in  the  midst  an  orb  looked  as  'twere  meant 
To  shame  the  sun,  it  mimicked  him  so  well. 

But,  ah  !  no  quickening,  grateful  warmth  it  sent : 
Cold  as  the  rock  beneath,  the  paly  radiance  fell. 

LXXXVIII. 

Within,  from  thousand  lamps  the  lustre  strays, 
Reflected  back  from  gems  about  the  wall ; 

And  from  twelve  dolphin  shapes  a  fountain  plays, 
Just  in  the  centre  of  the  spacious  hall. 

LXXXIX. 

But  whether,  in  the  sunbeam  formed  to  sport, 
These  shapes  once  lived  in  suppleness  and  pride, 

And  then,  to  decorate  this  wondrous  court, 
Were  stolen  from  the  waves,  and  petrified, 

Or  moulded  by  some  imitative  Gnome, 

And  scaled  all  o'er  with  gems,  they  were  but  stone, 
Casting  their  showers  and  rainbows  'neath  the  dome, 

To  man  or  angel's  eye  might  not  be  known. 

xc. 

No  snowy  fleece  in  these  sad  realms  was  found ; 

Nor  silken  ball,  by  maiden  loved  so  well : 
But,  ranged  in  lightest  garniture  around. 

In  seemly  folds,  a  shining  tapestry  fell. 


PALACE    OF    GNOMES.  IO/ 

XCI. 

And  fibres  of  asbestos,  bleached  in  fire, 

And  all  with  pearls  and  sparkling  gems  o'erflecked, 

Composed  of  that  strange  court  the  rich  attire ; 

And  such  the  cold,  fair  form  of  sad  Tahathyam  decked. 

xcn. 

Of  marble  white  the  table  they  surround, 

And  reddest  coral  decked  each  curious  couch, 

Which  softly  yielding  to  their  forms  was  found, 

And  of  a  surface  smooth  and  wooing  to  the  touch. 

XCIII. 

Of  sunny  gold  and  silver  like  the  moon 

Here  was  no  lack ;  but  if  the  veins  of  earth, 

Torn  open  by  man's  weaker  race,  so  soon 

Supplied  the  alluring  hoard,  or  here  had  birth, 

That  baffling,  maddening,  fascinating  art, 

Half  told  by  Sprite  most  mischievous,  that  he 

Might  laugh  to  see  men  toil,  then  not  impart, 
The  guests  left  uninqxiired  :   'tis  still  a  mystery. 

xciv. 

Here  were  no  flowers ;  but  a  sweet  odor  breathed 

Of  amber  pure  :  a  glistening  coronal 
Of  various-colored  gems  each  brow  inwreathed, 

In  form  of  garland,  for  the  festival. 


IO8  ZOPHIEL. 

XCV. 

All  that  the  shell  contains  most  delicate, 

Of  vivid  colors,  ranged  and  dressed  with  care, 

Was  spread  for  food,  and  still  was  in  the  state 
Of  its  first  freshness  :   if  such  creatures  rare 

Among  cold  rocks,  so  far  from  upper  air, 
By  force  of  art  might  live  and  propagate, 

Or  were  in  hoards  preserved,  the  Muse  cannot  declare. 


xcvi. 

But  here,  so  low  from  the  life-wakening  sun, 
However  humble,  life  was  sought  in  vain  ; 

But,  when  by  chance  or  gift  or  peril  won, 

'Twas  prized  and  guarded  well  in  this  domain. 


XCVII. 

Four  dusky  Spirits,  by  a  secret  art 

Taught  by  a  father  thoughtful  of  his  wants, 

Tahathyam  kept  for  menial  toil  apart ; 

But  only  deep  in  sea  were  their  permitted  haunts. 


XCVIII. 

The  banquet-cups,  of  many  a  hue  and  shape, 
Bossed  o'er  with  gems,  were  beautiful  to  view ; 

But,  for  the  madness  of  the  vaunted  grape, 
Their  only  draught  was  a  pure,  limpid  dew, 


PALACE    OF    GNOMES.  ICX) 

To  Spirits  sweet :  but  these  half-mortal  lips 

Longed  for  the  streams  that  once  on  earth  they  quaffed  ; 
And,  half  in  shame,  Tahathyam  coldly  sips, 

And  craves  excuses  for  the  temperate  draught. 

xcix. 

"Man   tastes,"  he   said,  "the  grapes'  sweet  blood  that 
streams 

To  steep  his  heart  when  pained  :  when  sorrowing,  he 
In  wild  delirium  drowns  the  sense,  and  dreams 

Of  bliss  arise  to  cheat  his  misery." 

c. 

Nor  with  their  dews  were  any  mingling  sweets 

Save  those,  to  mortal  lip,  of  poison  fell : 
No  murmuring  bee  was  heard  in  these  retreats ; 

The  mineral  clod  alone  supplied  their  hydromel. 

ci. 

The  Spirits,  while  they  sat  in  social  guise, 
Pledging  each  goblet  with  an  answering  kiss, 

Marked  many  a  Gnome  conceal  his  bursting  sighs, 
And  thought  death  happier  than  a  life  like  this. 

en. 

But  they  had  music  :  at  one  ample  side 

Of  the  vast  area  of  that  sparkling  hall, 
Fringed  round  with  gems  that  all  the  rest  outvied, 

In  form  of  canopy  was  seen  to  fall 


I  IO  ZOPHIKL. 

The  stony  tapestry,  over  what  at  first 

An  altar  to  some  deity  appeared  ; 
But  it  had  cost  full  many  a  year  to  adjust 

The  limpid  crystal  tubes  that  'neath  upreared 

Their  different  lucid  lengths  ;  and  so  complete 
Their  wondrous  rangement,  that  a  tuneful  Gnome 

Drew  from  them  sounds  more  varied,  clear,  and  sweet, 
Than  ever  yet  had  rung  in  any  earthly  dome,  — 


cm. 

Loud,  shrilly,  liquid,  soft :  at  that  quick  touch 
Such  modulation  wooed  his  angel-ears, 

That  Zophiel  wondered,  started  from  his  couch, 
And  thought  upon  the  music  of  the  spheres. 


crv. 

Tahathyam  marked  ;  and,  casting  down  the  board 
A  wistful  glance  to  one  who  shared  his  cheer, 

"  My  Ragasycheon,"  said  he  :  at  his  word 

A  Gnome  who   knew  what   strains   his   prince  would 
hear 


Arose,  like  youth's  soft  dawn  in  form  and  face, 
And  than  his  many  feres  more  lightly  dressed ; 

Yet,  unsurpassed  in  beauty  and  in  grace, 
Silken-haired  Ragasycheon  soon  expressed 


PALACE    OF    GNOMES.  Ill 

The  feelings  rising  at  his  master's  heart, 

Choosing  such  tones  as  when  the  breezes  sigh 

Through  some  lone  portico,  or,  far  apart 

From  ruder  sounds  of  mirth,  in  the  deep  forest  die. 

cvi. 

Preluding  low  in  notes  that  faint  and  tremble, 
Swelling,  awakening,  dying,  plaining  deep ; 

While  such  sensations  in  the  soul  assemble 
As  make  it  pleasure  to  the  eyes  to  weep. 

cvn. 

Is  there  a  heart  that  ever  loved  in  vain, 

Though  years  have  thrown  their  veil  o'er  all  most  dear, 
That  lives  not  each  sensation  o'er  again 

In  sympathy  with  sounds  like  those  that  mingle  here  ? 

CVIII. 

Still  the  fair  Gnome's  light  hands  the  chime  prolong ; 

And,  while  his  utmost  art  the  strain  employs, 
Cephroniel's  softened  son  in  gushing  song 

Poured  forth  his  sad,  deep  sense  of  long-departed  joys. 

cix. 

SONG. 

0  my  Phronema  !  how  thy  yellow  hair 
Was  fragrant,  when,  by  looks  alone  carest, 

1  felt  it,  wafted  by  the  pitying  air, 

Float  o'er  my  lips,  and  touch  my  fervid  breast ! 


112  Z6PHIEL. 

How  my  least  word  lent  color  to  thy  cheek  ! 

And  how  thy  gentle  form  would  heave  and  swell, 
As  if  the  love  thy  heart  contained  would  break 

That  warm  pure  shrine  where  Nature  bade  it  dwell ! 

We  parted  :  years  are  past,  and  thou  art  dead  : 
Never,  Phronema,  shall  I  see  thee  more  ! 

One  little  ringlet  of  thy  graceful  head 
Lies  next  my  heart :  'tis  all  I  may  adore. 

Torn  from  thy  sight,  to  save  a  life  of  gloom, 
Hopes  unaccomplished,  warmest  wishes  crost, 

How  can  I  longer  bear  my  weary  doom  ? 
Alas  !  what  have  I  gained  for  all  I  lost  ? 

ex. 

The  music  ceased,  and  from  Tahathyam  passed 

The  mournful  ecstasy  that  lent  it  zest ; 
But  tears  adown  his  paly  cheek  fell  fast, 

And  sprinkled  the  asbestos  o'er  his  breast. 

CXI. 

Then  thus  :  "  If  but  a  being  half  so  dear 

Could  to  these  realms  be  brought,  the  slow  distress 

Of  my  long  solitude  were  less  severe, 
And  I  might  learn  to  bear  my  weariness. 

cxn. 

"  There's  a  nepenthic  draught,  which  the  warm  breath 
Of  mortals,  when  they  quaff,  keeps  in  suspense, 


PALACE    OF    GNOMES.  113 

Giving  the  pale  similitude  of  death 

While  thus  chained  up  the  quick  perceptive  sense. 

"  Haply  'twere  possible.  —  But  to  the  shrine, 
Where  like  a  god  I  guard  Cephroniel's  gift !  " 

Soon  through  the  rock  they  wind  :  the  draught  divine 
Was  hidden  by  a  veil  the  king  alone  might  lift. 

CXIII. 

Cephroniel's  son,  with  half-averted  face 

And  faltering  hand,  that  curtain  drew,  and  showed, 

Of  solid  diamond  formed,  a  lucid  vase ; 
And  warm  within  the  pure  elixir  glowed, 

cxiv. 

Bright  red,  like  flame  and  blood  (could  they  so  meet), 

Ascending,  sparkling,  dancing,  whirling,  ever 
In  quick  perpetual  movement ;  and  of  heat 
So  high,  the  rock  was  warm  beneath  their  feet 
(Yet  heat  in  its  intenseness  hurtful  never), 

Even  to  the  entrance  of  the  long  arcade 

Which  led  to  that  deep  shrine  in  the  rock's  breast, 

As  far  as  if  the  half-angel  were  afraid 

To  know  the  secret  he  himself  possessed. 

cxv. 

Tahathyam  filled  a  slip  of  spar  with  dread, 

As  if  stood  by  and  frowned  some  power  divine ; 

Then  trembling,  as  he  turned  to  Zdphiel,  said, 
"  But  for  one  service  shalt  thou  call  it  thine. 


1 14  ZOPHIEL. 

CXVI. 

"  Bring  me  a  wife,  as  I  have  named  the  way, 
(I  will  not  risk  destruction  save  for  love  !) 

Fair-haired  and  beauteous  like  my  mother  :  say, 
Plight  me  this  pact ;  so  shall  thou  bear  above, 

"  For  thine  own  purpose,  what  has  here  been  kept 
Since  bloomed  the  second  age,  to  Angels  dear. 

Bursting  from  earth's  dark  womb,  the  fierce  wave  swept 
Off  every  form  that  lived  and  loved ;  while  here, 

Deep  hidden  here,  I  still  lived  on  and  wept." 

cxvn. 

Then  Zdphiel,  pitying  his  emotion  :  "  So 
I  promise,  —  nay,  unhappy  prince,  I  swear 

By  what  I  dare  not  utter,  —  I  will  go 

And  search,  and  one  of  all  the  loveliest  bear 

"  Away,  the  while  she  sleeps,  to  be  thy  wife ; 

Give  her  nepenthic  drink,  and  through  the  wave 
Brave  hell's  worst  pains  to  guard  her  gentle  life. 

Monarch  !  'tis  said  :  now  give  me  what  I  crave  ! 

CXVIII. 

"  Tahathyam  Evanath,  son  of  a  sire 

Who  knew  how  love  burns  in  a  breast  divine, 

If  this  thy  gift  sustain,  one  vital  fire, 

Sigh  not  for  things  of  earth;   for  all  earth's  best  are 
thine." 


PALACE  OF  GNOMES.  115 

CXIX. 

He  took  the  spar :  the  high-wrought  hopes  of  both 

Forbade  delay.     So  to  the  palace  back 
They  came.     Tahathyam  faintly  pressed,  nor  loath 

Saw  his  fair  guests  depart  to  wend  their  watery  track. 

CUBA  :  PUEBLO  NUEVO,  July,  1828. 


CANTO    FOURTH. 


THE    STORM. 


ARGUMENT. 

The  gloom  that  precedes  a  tempest  near  Carthage.  —  Z6phiel  and  Phrae- 
rion  returning  from  the  palace  of  Gnomes.  —  Zophiel  loses  the  piece  of 
spar  which  contains  his  invaluable  elixir,  and  narrowly  escapes  being 
sucked  down  by  a  whirlpool.  —  Zophiel  and  Phraerion  emerge  from  the 
sea,  and  rest  a  moment  in  the  deserts  nearest  Carthage  :  they  attempt 
to  pursue  their  course  toward  Media.  —  The  storm  increases.  —  Zophiel 
meets  a  spirit  who  detains  and  reproaches  him.  —  Phraerion  seeks  shel 
ter.  —  Zophiel  and  Phraerion  return  to  Media. 


THE  STORM. 


OVER  that  coast  whither  wronged  Dido  fled 

From  brother's  murderous  hand  low  vapors  brood, 

But  all  is  hushed ;  and  reigns  a  calm  as  dread 
As  that  fell  Roman's,  who,  like  wolf  pursued, 

In  after-times  upon  a  fragment  sate 

Of  ruined  Carthage,  his  fierce  eye  at  rest ; 

While,  hungry,  cold,  and  spent,  he  mocked  at  fate, 

And  fed  on  the  revenge  deep  smouldering  in  his  breast. 

ii, 

But  now  that  city's  turrets  frown  on  high  ; 

And  from  her  distant  streets  is  heard  the  shriek 
Of  frenzied  mothers,  uttered  as  they  fly 

From  where  with  children's  blood  their  guilty  altars 
reek. 

in. 

But  far,  far  off,  upon  the  sea's  expanse, 
The  very  silence  has  a  shriek  of  fear ; 

119 


I2O  ZOPHIEL. 

And,  'cross  the  sight,  thick  shadows  seem  to  glance ; 
And  sounds  like  laughter  ring,  yet  leave  the  ear 

In  racking  doubt  if  it  has  heard  such  peal, 

Or  if  'twas  but  affrighted  fancy  spoke  : 
Past  that  suspense,  and,  lesser  pain  to  feel, 

As  giant  rends  his  chains,  the  bursting  tempest  woke. 

IV. 

Alas  for  the  poor  pilot  at  his  prow, 

Far  from  the  haven  !     Will  his  Neptune  save? 

The  Muse  no  longer  hears  his  frantic  vow, 

But  follows  her  fair  Sprites  still  deep  beneath  the  wave. 

v. 

Soon  through  the  cavern  the  receding  light 
Refused  its  beam.     Zophiel,  with  toil  severe, 

But  bliss  in  view,  through  the  thrice  murky  night 
Sped  swiftly  on.     A  treasure  now  more  dear 

He  had  to  guard  than  boldest  hope  had  dared 
To  breathe  for  years  :  but  rougher  grew  the  way ; 

And  soft  Phraerion,  shrinking  back,  and  scared 

At  every  whirling  depth,  wept  for  his  flowers  and  day, 

Shivered,  and  pained,  and  shrieking,  as  the  waves 
Wildly  impel  them  'gainst  the  jutting  rocks  : 

Not  all  the  care  and  strength  of  Zophiel  saves 
His  tender  guide  from  half  the  wildering  shocks 


THE    STORM.  121 

He  bore.  The  calm,  which  favored  their  descent, 
And  bade  them  look  upon  their  task  as  o'er, 

Was  past ;  and  now  the  inmost  earth  seemed  rent 
With  such  fierce  storms  as  never  raged  before. 

VI. 

Of  a  long  mortal  life  had  the  whole  pain, 

Kssenced  in  one  consummate  pang,  been  borne, 

Known,  and  survived,  it  still  would  be  in  vain 

To  try  to  paint  the  pains  felt  by  these  Sprites  forlorn. 

vir. 

The  Power  that  made,  intending  them  for  bliss, 
And  gave  their  thrilling  organs  but  to  bless, 

Had  they  been  formed  for  such  a  world  as  this, 

Had  kindly  dulled  their  powers,  and  made  their  tor 
tures  less. 

VIII. 

The  precious  drop,  closed  in  its  hollow  spar, 
Between  his  lips  Zdphiel  in  triumph  bore. 

Now  earth  and  sea  seem  shaken  !     Dashed  afar, 
He  feels  it  part ;  'tis  dropped  ;  the  waters  roar. 

IX. 

He  sees  it  in  a  sable  vortex  whirling 

Formed  by  a  cavern  vast,  that,  'neath  the  sea, 

Sucks  the  fierce  torrent  in  ;  and,  madly  furling 

His  wings,  would  plunge  :  one  moment  more,  and  he, 

Sucked  down,  in  earth's  dark  womb  must  wait  eternity. 


122  ZOPHIEL. 


X. 


"  Pursue  no  farther  !  —  stop,  alas  !  for  me, 
If  not  thyself!  "     Phraerion's  shrieks  accost 

Him  thus  :  "  Who,  Zophiel,  shall  protect  for  thee 

The  maid  thou  lov'st?     Hear  !  stop  !  or  all  are  lost !  " 


XI. 

The  verge,  the  verge,  is  near.     Must  such  a  state, 

Seraph,  be  thine?     No  !  sank  the  spar  within  ; 
But  the  shrill  warning  reached  him  through  the  din 

Of  waves.     Back,  back,  he  struggles,  ere  too  late  ; 

And  the  whole  horror  of  the.  avoided  fate 
Shot  through  his  soul.     The  wages  of  his  sin 

He  felt,  for  once,  were  light,  and  clasped  his  shrieking 
mate ; 

XII. 

Who  thus  entreats  :  "  Up  !  to  earth's  pleasant  fields  ! 

O  Zophiel,  all  this  torture's  for  thy  pleasure  ! " 
Twined  in  his  arms,  the  baffled  Seraph  yields, 

And  flies  the  hungry  depth  that  gorged  his  dearest 
treasure. 

XIII. 

What  added  torment  —  gained  ;  then  snatched  away,  — 
Pressed  to  his  heart,  —  and  then  to  feel  it  riven 

From  heart  and  hand,  while  bearing  it  to-day 
With  joy  complete  as  if  recalled  to  heaven  ! 


THE    STORM.  123 

XIV. 

That  which  to  own  was  perfect  transport  —  lost ! 

Yet  still  (to  urge  a  dangerous  course  contending, 
And  the  fierce  passions  which  his  bosom  crost, 

For  pity,  or  some  other  hope,  suspending), 

Resisting  all,  he  forced  a  desperate  way  : 
His  gentle  fere,  with  plaints  no  longer  vain, 

Clung  closer  to  his  neck,  nor  ceased  to  pray 
To  be  restored  to  sun  and  flowers  again. 


xv. 

Thus,  all  intwined,  they  rose  again  to  air, 

Near  Lybia's  coast.     Black  clouds,  in  mass  deform, 

Were  frowning ;  yet  a  moment's  calm  was  there, 
As  if  had  stopped  to  breathe  a  while  the  storm. 


XVI. 

Their  white  feet  pressed  the  desert  sod ;  they  shook 
From  their  bright  locks  the  briny  drops  :  nor  staid 

Zophiel  on  ills,  present  or  past,  to  look ; 
For,  weary  as  he  was,  his  lonely  maid 

Came  to  his  ardent  soul  in  all  her  charms  : 
Unguarded  she,  what  being  might  molest 

Even  now?     His  chilled  and  wounded  substance  warms 
But  at  the  thought,  the  while  he  thus  addrest 


124  z6PHIEL. 

The  shivering  Sprite  of  flowers  :  "  We  must  not  stay  : 

All  is  but  desolation  here,  and  gloom. 
Up  !  let  us  through  the  air,  nor  more  delay. 
Nay,  droop  not  now :  a  little  more  essay, 

I'll  bear  thee  forward  to  thy  bower  of  bloom, 

"And  on  thy  roses  lay  thee  down  to  rest. 

Come  through  the  desert !  banquet  on  thy  store 
Of  dews  and  sweets  !     Come,  warm  thee  at  my  breast ! 

On  !  through  the  air,  nor  think  of  danger  more. 


XVII. 

"  As  grateful  for  the  service  thou  hast  done 
I  live,  though  lost  the  object  of  our  task, 

As  if  were  still  possessed  the  treasure  won  ; 
And  all  thou  wouldst  of  Zdphiel  freely  ask. 

XVIII. 

"  The  Gnome,  the  secret  path,  the  draught  divine, 
I  know.     Tahathyam  sighs  beneath  the  wave 

For  mortal  bride  :  valor  and  skill  are  mine  : 
He  may  again  bestow  what  once  he  gave." 

XIX. 

Thus  Zdphiel,  renovated,  though  the  air 

Was  thick  and  dull,  with  just  enough  of  hope 

To  save  him  from  the  stupor  of  despair, 

Too  much  disdained  the  pains  he  felt  to  droop. 


THE    STORM.  125 

XX. 

But  soft  Phraerion,  smarting  from  his  toil, 
To  buffet  not  a  tempest  was  in  plight  ; 

And  Egla's  lover  saw  him  shrink,  recoil, 
And  beg  some  nearer  shelter  for  the  night : 
For  now  the  tempest,  bursting  in  its  might, 

Raged  fiercely  round,  and  made  him  fain  to  rest 
In  cave  or  tomb.     But  Zdphiel  gently  caught  him, 

Sustained  him  firmly  at  his  fearless  breast, 

And  'tvvixt  Euphrates  and  the  Tigris  brought  him ; 


XXI. 

Then  paused  a  moment  o'er  a  desert  drear 
Until  the  thunder-clouds  around  him  burst ; 

His  flights  renewed,  and  wished  for  Media  near. 
But  stronger  grows  the  gale  :  what  Sprites  accurst 

Ride  on  the  tempest  ?     Warring  elements 
Might  not  alone  such  ardent  course  impede  : 

The  wretched  Spirit  from  his  speed  relents 

With  sense  like  mortal  bosom  when  they  bleed. 

XXII. 

Loud  and  more  loud  the  blast :  in  mingled  gyre 
Flew  leaves  and  stones,  and  with  a  deafening  crash 

Fell  the  uprooted  trees  :  heaven  seemed  on  fire,  — 
Not,  as  'tis  wont,  with  intermitting  flash, 


126  ZOPHIEL. 

But,  like  an  ocean  all  of  liquid  flame, 

The  whole  broad  arch  gave  one  continuous  glare ; 
While  through  the  red  light  from  their  prowlings  came 

The  frighted  beasts,  and  ran,  but  could  not  find  a  lair. 

XXIII. 

"Rest,  Zophiel,  rest !  "  Phraerion  cries.     "The  surge 
Was  lesser  pain  :  I  cannot  bear  it  more. 

Beaten  in  seas  so  long,  we  but  emerge 
To  meet  a  fiercer  conflict  on  the  shore  ! " 

XXIV. 

Then  Zophiel :  "  There's  a  little  grot  on  high  ; 

The  wild  doves  nestle  there  ;  it  is  secure  : 
To  Ecbatane  but  for  an  hour  I'll  fly, 

And  come  for  thee  at  morn  :  no  more  endure. 


XXV. 

" Nay,  wilt  not  leave  me?    Then  I'll  bear  thee  through 
As  lately  through  the  whirling  floods  I  bore." 

Still  closer  clinging,  to  his  bosom  grew 

The  tender  Sprite  :  "  Then  bear ;  I  can  no  more," 

XXVI. 

He  said,  and  came  a  shock  as  if  the  earth 

Crashed  'gainst  some  other  planet :  shivered  brands 

Whirl  round  their  heads  ;  and  (shame  upon  their  birth  !) 
Both  Sprites  lay  mazed  and  prostrate  on  the  sands. 


THE    STORM.  I2/ 


XXVII. 


The  delicate  Phraerion  sought  a  cave 

Low-browed,  and,  crouching  down  'mid  trailing  snakes 
And  slimy  worms  (things  that  would  hide  to  save 

Their  loathsome  lives),  hearkens  the  roar,  and  quakes. 


XXVIII. 

But  Zdphiel,  stung  with  shame,  and  in  a  mood 
Too  fierce  for  fear,  uprose ;  yet,  ere  for  flight 

Served  his  torn  wings,  a  form  before  him  stood, 
In  gloomy  majesty.  Like  starless  night 

A  sable  mantle  fell  in  cloudy  fold 

From  its  stupendous  breast ;  and,  as  it  trod, 
The  pale  and  lurid  light  at  distance  rolled 

Before  its  princely  feet  receding  on  the  sod. 

XXIX. 

Twas  still  as  death,  save  that  the  thunder  spoke 
In  mutterings  low  and  far :  a  look  severe 

Seemed  as  preluding  speech  ;  but  Zdphiel  broke 
The  silence  first :  "  Why,  Spirit,  art  thou  here  ?  " 

XXX. 

It  waved  its  hand,  and  instantaneous  came 
A  hissing  bolt  with  new  impetus  back  : 

Darts  round  a  group  of  verdant  palms  the  flame, 
That,  being  pointed  to  them,  blasted  black. 


128  Z6PHIEL. 

XXXI. 

"  O  source  of  all  my  guilt !  at  such  an  hour  " 
(The  mortal-lover  said)  "thine  answer  there 

I  need  not  read  :  too  well  I  know  thy  power 
In  all  I've  felt  and  feel.     But  has  despair 

"  Or  grief  or  torment  e'er  made  Zophiel  bow  ? 

Declare  me  that,  nor  spend  thine  arts  in  vain 
To  torture  more  :  if,  like  a  miscreant,  now 

I  bend  to  thee,  'tis  not  for  dread  of  pain ; 

"  That  I  can  bear.     Yet  bid  thy  legions  cease 
Their  strife.     Oh  !  spare  me  this  resistance  rude 

But  for  an  hour  ;  let  me  but  on  in  peace  ; 
So  shall  I  taste  the  joy  of  gratitude, 

"Even  to  thee."  — "The  joy?  "  then  first  with  scorn 
Replied  that  sombre  being  :  "  dream'st  thou  still 

Of  joy?  —  a  thing  accursed,  demeaned,  forlorn, 
As  thou  art?     Is't  for  joy  thou  mock'st  my  will? 

"Canst  thou  taste  pleasure?  banished,  crushed,  debased." 

"  I  can,  betrayer  !  dost  thou  envy  me  ? 
But  leave  me  to  my  wrongs,  and  I  can  taste 

Even  yet  of  heaven,  spite  of  my  fall  and  thee. 

XXXII. 

"  But  that  affects  not  thee  :  thine  insults  spare 
But  for  an  hour ;  leave  me  to  go  at  will 


THE    STORM.  I2Q 

Only  till  morn,  and  I  will  back,  and  bear 

Whate'er  thou  wilt.     What !  dost  obstruct  me  still? 

"  Thine  armies  dim,  and  shrouded  in  the  storm, 
Then  I  must  meet,  and,  weary  thus  and  torn, 

Essay  the  force  of  an  immortal  arm, 
Lone  as  I  am,  until  another  morn 

"  Shall  shame  both  them  and  thee  to  thine  abode. 

There,  on  the  steam  of  human  heart-blood,  spilt 
By  priest  or  murderer,  make  repast ;  or  brood 

Over  the  vile  creations  of  thy  guilt. 

XXXIII. 

"  Waste  thy  "life-giving  power  on  reptiles  foul, 

Slow,  slimy  worms,  and  poisonous  snakes ;  then  watch, 

Like  the  poor  brutes  that  here  for  hunger  prowl, 
To  mar  the  beauty  that  thou  canst  not  match  !  " 

xxxiv. 

Thus  he  :  the  other  folded  o'er  its  breast 

Its  arms,  and  stood  as  cold  and  firm  the  while 

As  if  no  passion  stirred,  save  that  expressed 
Its  pale,  pale  lip  a  faint,  ferocious  smile. 

xxxv. 

While,  blent  with  winds,  ten  thousand  agents  wage 

The  strife  anew ;  and  Zophiel,  fain  to  fly, 
But  foiled,  gave  up  to  unavailing  rage, 

And  strove  and  toiled  and  strove,  but  could  not  mount 
on  his;h. 


I3O  ZOPHIEL. 

XXXVI. 

Then  thus  the  torturer :  "  Hie  thee  to  the  bed 
Of  her  thou  lov'st ;  pursue  thy  dear  design  ; 

Go  dew  the  golden  ringlets  of  her  head  ! 

Thou  wait'st  not,  sure,  for  any  power  of  mine. 

XXXVII. 

"  Yet  better  were  the  duties,  Spirit  dull, 
Of  thine  allegiance  !     Win  her  o'er  to  me, 

Take  all  thou  canst,  —  a  pleasure  brief  but  full, 
Vain  dreamer,  if  not  mine,  she's  lost  to  thee  !  " 

XXXVIII. 

"Wilt  thou,  then,  hurt  her?     Why  am  I  detained? 

O  strength  once  serving  'gainst  the  powers  above  ! 
Where  art  thou  now?"     Thus  Zophiel ;  and  he  strained 

His  wounded  wings  to  mount,  but  could  not  move. 

xxxix. 

Then  thus  the  scorner :  "  Nay,  be  calm  !  I'll  still 
The  storm  for  thee  :  hear  !  it  recedes  ;  'tis  ended. 

Yet,  if  thou  dream'st  success  awaits  thee,  ill 

Dost  thou  conceive  of  boundless  power  offended. 


"  Zophiel,  bland  Sprite,  sublime  Intelligence, 
Once  chosen  for  my  friend,  and  worthy  me, 

Not  so  wouldst  thou  have  labored  to  be  hence 
Had  my  emprise  been  crowned  with  victory. 


THE    STORM.  131 


XLI. 


"  When  I  was  bright  in  heaven,  thy  seraph  eyes 
Sought  only  mine.     But  he  who  every  power 

Beside,  while  hope  allured  him,  could  despise, 
Changed  and  forsook  me  in  misfortune's  hour." 


XLII. 


"  Changed  and  forsook  thee  ?     This  from  thee  to  me, 
Once  noble  Spirit !     Oh  !  had  not  too  much 

My  o'er-fond  heart  adored  thy  fallacy, 

I  had  not  now  been  here  to  bear  thy  keen  reproach," 


XLIII. 


Zdphiel  replied.     "  Fallen,  wretched,  and  debased, 
E'en  to  thy  scornful  words'  extent,  my  doom 

Too  well  I  know,  and  for  what  cause  displaced ; 
But  not  from  thee  should  the  remembrance  come  ! 


XLIV. 

"  Forsook  thee  in  misfortune  ?     At  thy  side 

I  closer  fought  as  peril  thickened  round ; 
Watched  o'er  thee  fallen  :  the  light  of  heaven  denied 

But  proved  my  love  more  fervent  and  profound. 

XLV. 

"  Prone  as  thou  wert,  had  I  been  mortal-born, 
And  owned  as  many  lives  as  leaves  there  be, 

From  all  Hyrcania  by  his  tempest  torn, 

I  had  lost  them,  one  by  one,  and  given  the  last  for 
thee. 


I32  ZOPHIEL. 


XLVI. 


"  Pain  had  a  joy ;  for  suffering  could  but  wring 
Love  from  my  soul,  to  gild  the  murky  air 

Of  our  first  rude  retreat ;  while  I,  fond  thing  ! 
Still  thought  thee  true,  and  smiled  upon  despair. 


XLVII. 


"  Oh  !  had  thy  plighted  pact  of  faith  been  kept, 
Still  unaccomplished  were  the  curse  of  sin  : 

'Mid  all  the  woes  thy  ruined  followers  wept, 

Had  friendship  lingered,  hell  could  not  have  been. 

XLVIII. 

"  But  when  to  make  me  thy  first  minister 
Came  the' proposal,  when  thy  purpose  burst 

Forth  from  thy  heart's  black  den  disclosed  and  bare, 
Then  first  I  felt  alone,  and  knew  myself  accurst. 

"Though  the  first  seraph  formed,  how  could  I  tell 
The  ways  of  guile?     What  marvel  I  believed, 

When  cold  ambition  mimicked  love  so  well, 

That  half  the  sons  of  heaven  looked  on,  deceived  ! 

XLIX. 

"  Ambition  thine  ;  to  me  the  Eternal  gave 
So  much  of  love,  his  kind  design  was  crost : 

Held  to  thy  heart,  I  thought  thee  good  as  brave, 
Nor  realized  my  guilt  till  all  was  lost. 


THE    STORM.  133 


"  Now,  writhing  at  my  utmost  need,  how  vain 

Are  ZdphieTs  tears  and  prayers  !  Alas  !  heaven-born, 

Of  all  heaven's  virtues  doth  not  one  remain? 
Pity  me  once,  and  let  me  now  be  gone  !  " 

LI. 

"  Go  !  "  said  the  cold  detainer  with  a  smile 
That  heightened  cruelty  ;  "  yet  know  from  me 

Thy  foolish  hopes  but  lure  thee  on  a  while 
To  wake  thy  sense  to  keener  misery." 

LIT. 

"  O  skilled  in  torment !  spare  me,  spare  me  now  !  " 
Chilled  by  a  dread  foreboding,  Zdphiel  said ; 

"  But  little  time  doth  waning  night  allow." 

He  knelt ;  he  wept :  calm  grew  the  winds ;  he  fled. 

LIII. 

The  clouds  disperse.     His  heavenly  voice  he  sent 
In  whispers  through  the  caves  :   Phraerion,  there 

In  covert  loathed,  to  that  low  music  lent 

His  soft,  quick  ear,  and  sprang  to  join  his  fere. 

LIV. 

Soon  through  the  desert,  on  their  airy  way, 
Mantled  in  dewy  mists,  the  Spirits  prest, 

And  reached  fair  Media  ere  the  twilight  gray 
Recalled  the  rose's  lover  to  his  nest. 


134  Z6PHIEL. 

LV. 

'But  on  the  Tigris'  winding  banks,  though  night 
Still  lingers  round,  two  early  mortals  greet 

The  first  faint  gleam  with  prayer,  and  bathed  and  dight 
As  travellers  came  forth.     The  morn  rose  sweet, 

And  rushing  by  them,  as  the  Spirits  past, 
In  tinted  vapors  while  the  pale  star  sets  : 

The  younger  asked,  "  Whence  are  these  odors  cast 
The  breeze  has  waked  from  beds  of  violets  ?  " 

CUBA:  PUEBLO  NUEVO,  August,  1828. 


CANTO     FIFTH. 


ZAMEIA. 


ARGUMENT. 

Morning. —  Helon  and  Hariph  travelling  along  the  banks  of  the  Tigris.  — 
Helon  is  sorrowful  in  consequence  of  a  dream  of  the  preceding  night ; 
receives  a  box  from  Hariph.  —  Helon  and  Hariph  see  the  princess 
Zjme'ia.  —  Neantes  relates  the  story  of  ZameYa  ;  her  appearance  in  the 
temple  of  Mylitta  ;  her  love  for  Meles;  the  falsehood  and  dereliction  of 
Meles  ;  her  sufferings  ;  her  escape  from  the  garden  of  linlec. 


ZAMBIA. 


How  beauteous  art  thou,  O  them  morning  Sun  ! 

The  old  man,  feebly  tottering  forth,  admires 
As  much  thy  beauty,  now  life's  dream  is  done, 

As  when  he  moved  exulting  in  youth's  fires. 

II. 

The  infant  strains  his  little  arms  to  catch 
The  rays  that  glance  about  his  silken  hair ; 

And  Luxury  hangs  her  amber  lamps  to  match 

Thy  face  when  turned  away  from  bower  and  palace  fair. 

in. 

Sweet  to  the  lip  the  draught,  the  blushing  fruit ; 

Music  and  perfumes  mingle  with  the  sou)  • 
How  thrills  the  kiss,  when  feeling's  voice  is  mute  ! 

And  light  and  beauty's  tints  enhance  the  whole. 

137 


138  Z6PHIEL. 

IV. 

Yet  each  keen  sense  were  dulness  but  for  thee  : 
Thy  ray  to  joy,  love,  virtue,  genius,  warms. 

Thou  never  weariest :  no  inconstancy 

But  comes  to  pay  new  homage  to  thy  charms. 

v. 

How  many  lips  have  sung  thy  praise  !  how  long  ! 

Yet,  when  his  slumbering  harp  he  feels  thee  woo, 
The  pleasured  bard  pours  forth  another  song, 

And  finds  in  thee,  like  love,  a  theme  forever  new. 

VI. 

Thy  dark-eyed  daughters  come  in  beauty  forth 

In  thy  near  realms  ;  and,  like  their  snow-wreaths  fair, 

The  bright-haired  youths  and  maidens  of  the  North 
Smile  in  thy  colors  when  thou  art  not  there. 

VII. 

'Tis  there  thou  bid'st  a  deeper  ardor  glow, 

And  higher,  purer  reveries  completest ; 
As  drops  that  farthest  from  the  ocean  flow, 

Refining  all  the  way,  from  springs  the  sweetest. 

VIII. 

Haply  sometimes,  spent  with  the  sleepless  night, 

Some  wretch,  impassioned,  from  sweet  morning's  breath 

Turns  his  hot  brow,  and  sickens  at  thy  light ; 

But  Nature,  ever  kind,  soon  heals,  or  gives  him  death. 


ZAMEIA.  139 


IX. 


Fair  Sun,  no  goodlier  shape  thy  smiles  this  morn 
Caressed  than  Melon's,  as  he  came  from  far, 

A  broidered  scarf  for  girdle,  closely  drawn, 

And  sandals  on  his  feet,  like  Parthian  messenger. 


x. 

The  youth's  brown  ringlets  in  the  loving  beam 

Hung  changeful,  bright,  and  crisp :  his  neck,  his  bust, 

Have  thousand  beauties  all  their  own,  and  seem 
Not  only  moulded  to  proportion  just, 

But  all  his  form,  slightly  attenuate, 

As  best  bespeaks  activity,  exprest 
Something  unseen  ;  as  if  might  emanate 

Excess  of  soul  through  the  material  breast, 

That  heaved  and  panted  'neath  his  garment  blue 
(Which  fell  but  to  the  knee)  ;  and,  all  about, 

A  warmth — a  mystic  charm —  seemed  breathing  through 
Each  viewless  pore,  and  circling  him  without. 


XI. 

His  youthful  cheek  was  bronzed ;  and,  though  his  eye 
Was  of  no  vaunted  hue,  successive  came 

Of  war  and  chase  the  quick  variety  ; 

But  oftener  tenderness  lent  there  her  gentlest  flame. 


14°  ZOPHIEL. 

XII. 

His  sinewy  arms  were  bare,  and  at  his  back 

A  bow  and  quiver  held  their  airy  place  : 
Like  some  young  hunter  in  the  tiger's  track 

He  moved,  with  dart  in  hand,  all  symmetry  and  grace. 

XIII. 

But  though  (as  rosy  mists  dispersed  around, 

And  birds  sang  sweet,  and  glistening  meadows  bloomed) 

He  met  with  passing  joy  the  sight  and  sound, 

Yet  Sadness  o'er  his  face  full  soon  her  reign  resumed. 

XIV. 

Nor  this  escaped  an  old  man  at  his  side, 

Whose  looks  told  tales  of  many  years  :  but  fair 

He  was,  and  for  a  youth  beseeming  guide  ; 
Not  Casius'  peaks  were  whiter  than  his  hair. 

xv. 

On  hair  or  robe  nor  spot  nor  stain  was  seen, 

Though  earth  had  been  his  bed,  and  dust  his  path : 

Cool  looked  he  in  the  sun,  and  pure  and  clean, 
As  if  in  marble  hall,  and  fresh  from  recent  bath. 

XVI. 

And  so  he  spoke  :  "  Why,  Helon,  art  thou  thus 
Silent  and  sad  ?     The  desert  way  we've  past 

Has  been  a  path  of  founts  and  flowers  to  us  ; 

Yet,  at  our  wandering's  close,  I  view  thy  brow  o'er- 
cast." 


ZAMEIA. 
XVII. 

Then  Helon  said,  "What  cause  for  joy  have  I, 
Even  were  the  uncertain  dross  we  seek  for  found  ? 

Who  now  regards  my  gentle  mother's  sigh 

While  I  am  far?  and  what  reward  has  crowned 

"  My  father's  worth  and  truth  ?     Alas  !  our  God, 

Who  sits  rejoicing  in  his  mystery 
And  boundless  power,  I  fear  may  not  accord 

The  least  of  his  regards  to  them  or  me. 

XVIII. 

"  Forsake  but  him,  and  palaces  unfold 
Their  hospitable  gates  to  me  and  mine : 

Now,  for  a  beggar's  hoard,  a  little  gold, 

I  go  a  wanderer  forth,  the  last  of  all  my  line. 

XIX. 

"  I  gave  up  every  youthful  hope  ;  nay,  more, 
Would  give  up  life  as  freely  as  a  sigh  : 

For,  if  old  Oran  live,  and  should  restore 

The  treasure  sought,  our  dwindled  line  must  die. 

xx. 

"  Why  beats  this  heart  ?  why  is  this  arm  so  strong  ? 

Soon,  to  a  little  earth  dissolved  again, 
Shall  ever  pen  of  scribe,  or  harper's  song, 

Declare  that  one  like  Helon  ere  has  been? 


I42  ZOPHIEL. 

XXI. 

"  My  sire  and  mother  dead,  around  their  tombs 
I  like  a  ghost  must  linger,  loving  nought : 

Oh  !  if  to  this  our  God  his  faithful  dooms, 

Cast,  cast   me   to   the  flames,  and  save  me  from  the 
thought ! " 

XXII. 

The  old  man  looked  upon  him,  marked  his  pain, 
And  love  and  pity  mingled  with  that  look ; 

For  on  his  youthful  brow  was  swoln  the  vein, 
And  like  the  fevered  sick  his  pulses  shook. 

Yet  on  he  spoke  :  "  Still  might  I,  warm  with  life, 
Back  to  the  queen  of  cities  ;  take  my  place  ; 

Choose  from  the  bowers  of  Babylon  a  wife ; 

And  bless  my  mother's  eyes  with  a  new  blooming  race, 

"  That  else  is  lost.     What  though  the  fair  I  take 
E'en  from  Mylitta's  fanes?     Women  may  be 

Inthralled  by  love,  and  often  will  forsake 
All  other  gods  for  love's  idolatry." 


XXIII. 

The  old  man  turned  and  uttered,  "  Do  I  hear 
From  Helen  this?     Some  evil  thing,  some  Sprite, 

While  darkness  reigned,  has  whispered  in  thine  ear, 
And  tempted  thee,  in  visions  of  the  night." 


ZAMBIA. 


XXIV. 


"  Some  evil  thing  !  "  returned  the  youth  in  mood 
More  vehement.     "  If  evil  things  can  give 

Dreams  such  as  mine,  let  me  turn  foe  to  good, 
And  make  a  God  of  Evil  while  I  live  !  " 


xxv. 


"Make  thee  a  God  of  Evil?  "  Hariph  said  : 
"  Too  daring  boy,  the  ambient  viewless  air 

Teems  with  a  race  that  hovers  o'er  thy  head  : 

Woe  to  thy  heart  and  thee  if  some  find  entrance  there  ! 


XXVI. 


"  From  childhood  nurtured  'neath  the  Baalic  willow, 

Where  every  breeze  respires  idolatry, 
Thy  soul,  even  as  thy  lip  Euphrates'  billow, 

Has  drank  pollution,  spite  of  Heaven  and  me." 

XXVII. 

"  Pollution  !     Hariph,  could  such  being  beam  " 
(So  Helon  spoke)  "  as  from  a  fearful  death 

I  saved  last  night  (ah  !  why  was't  but  a  dream?) 
She  would  not  be  unworthy,  though  her  breath 

"  Had  been  derived  from  Pagan  sorcerer, 
Priest  of  the  Cnidian  fanes,  or  priest  of  fire  : 

The  signet  of  high  heaven  impressed  on  her 

Gives  to  oblivion  these,  and  stamps  her  heavenly  sire  !  " 


144  Z6PHIEL. 


XXVIII. 


The  old  man  turned,  and  cast  upon  the  boy 
(Who  for  his  fervor  spoke  in  impious  guise) 

An  anxious  glance  ;  but  yet  a  secret  joy, 

The  while  he  thus  reproved,  seemed  hidden  in  his  eyes. 


XXIX. 


"  Thy  doubts  and  words  are  guilty  !     'Tis  not  given 
To  son  of  mortal  (though  he  even  may  be 

O'erwatched  and  well  beloved  by  those  of  heaven) 
To  know  what  beings  sway  his  destiny. 


XXX. 

"  Thy  dream  was  good  ;  but,  lest  thyself  undo 
All  that  is  done,  I  tell  thee,  youth,  beware  ! 

Curb  thine  impatience  ;  keep  thy  God  in  view, 
Nor  murmur  at  the  cup  his  wisdom  may  prepare. 

"  Virtue  !  how  many  as  a  lowly  thing, 

Born  of  weak  folly,  scorn  thee  !  but  thy  name 

Alone  they  know  :  upon  thy  soaring  wing 

They'd  fear  to  mount ;  nor  could  thy  sacred  flame 

"  Burn  in  their  baser  hearts  :  the  biting  thorn, 
The  flinty  crag,  flowers  hiding,  strew  thy  field ; 

Yet  blest  is  he  whose  daring  bides  the  scorn 

Of  the  frail  easy  herd,  and  buckles  on  thy  shield. 


ZAME'IA.  145 

"  Who  says  thy  ways  are  bliss,  trolls  but  a  lay 

To  lure  the  infant :  if  thy  paths  to  view 
Were  always  pleasant,  Crime's  worst  sons  would  lay 

Their  daggers  at  thy  feet,  and  from  mere  sloth  pursue. 

XXXI. 

"  Nor  deed  nor  prayer  nor  suffering  of  the  just 
Is  ever  lost  "  (he  said  ;  his  clear  eye  flashed)  : 

"  Tempt  not  the  powers  that  love  thee,  more  !  "   Then  first 
The  youth  felt  awe,  and  dropped  his  lids  abashed. 

XXXII. 

Still  Hariph  spoke  :  "  If  ever  thou  shouldst  live 

To  be  in  danger  from  a  potent  Sprite, 
Recall  me  to  thy  mind ;  take  what  I  give, 

And  burn  whate'er  it  holds,  with  perfume,  in  his  sight." 

XXXIII. 

Helon  received  a  little  box  composed 

Of  carneol ;  and  the  sunbeams,  as  they  rushed 

Through  the  transparent  hollow  gem,  disclosed 

What  seemed  a  serpent's  heart,  but  dried  and  crushed. 

xxxiv. 

Then  bent  they  near  a  thicket,  side  by  side, 
Their  friendly  way,  nor  more  in  words  exprest ; 

But  often  Helon  looked  upon  his  guide, 

And  seemed  communing  with  his  inmost  breast. 


146  ZOPHIEL. 

XXXV. 

Warm  grew  the  clay ;  and  now,  as  if  to  mock 
Their  sight,  with  sudden  wind  the  river  swept. 

They  turn  a  mossy,  dark,  projecting  rock, 

And  start ;  for  'neath  its  crags  a  woman  slept, 

Pallid  and  worn,. but  beautiful  and  young, 

Though  marked  her  charms  by  wildest  passion's  trace 
Her  long  round  arms,  over  a  fragment  flung, 

From  pillow  all  too  rude  protect  a  face 

Whose  dark  and  high-arched  brows  gave  to  the  thought 
To  deem  what  radiance  once  they  towered  above ; 

But  all  its  proudly  beauteous  outline  taught 

That  anger  there  had  shared  the  throne  of  love. 


xxxvi. 

Rich  are  her  robes,  but  torn  and  soiled  ;  and  gleams 
Above  her  belt  a  dagger  set  with  gems  : 

Her  long  black  hair,  'scaped  from  its  braiding,  streams, 
Black  as  a  serpent,  to  her  garments'  hems. 


XXXVII. 

Black  as  a  serpent.  —  Daughters  of  the  woods, 
You  see  him  'mid  Mechaceba's  roses,  while 

Your  light  canoes  upon  the  vernal  floods 

Are  thrown  to  bear  you  to  some  floating  isle, 


ZAMEIA.  147 

Where  sleeping  bisons  sail  upon  the  tide  : 

There,  while  through  golden-blossomed  nenuphar 

Your  arrows  pierce  some  tall  flamingo's  side, 

He  rears  his  white-ringed  neck,  and  watches  you  from 
far. 

XXXVIII. 

Her  sandalled  feet  were  scarred,  and  drops  of  blood 
Still  rested  fresh  on  them,  by  tooth  of  thorn 

Expressed  ;  and,  let  day's  eye  look  where  it  would, 
'Twere  hard  to  find  such  beauty  so  forlorn. 


XXXIX. 

Near  on  the  moss  lay  one  who  seemed  her  guide ; 

A  mule  among  the  herbs  his  pittance  took ; 
A  little  slave  of  Ethiope,  at  her  side, 

Sat  watching  o'er  them  all  with  many  a  sorrowing  look. 


XL. 

Helon  drew  back,  but  only  half  suppressed 

The  cry  surprise  propelled.     "  What  strange  mischance 

Brings  to  the  desert  these?"     While  so  addressed 
Hariph,  the  one  on  earth  awoke  beneath  their  glance, 

And  laid  his  finger  on  his  lip  in  fear, 

And  on  the  sleeper  gazed  :  she  did  not  stir. 

Then,  wiping  from  his  sunken  eye  a  tear, 
He  fell  before  their  feet,  a  suppliant  for  her. 


148  Z6PHIEL. 


XLI. 


Then  Helon  thus  :  "  Distrust  us  not,  but  tell 
Why  thou  art  here,  and  who  is  that  soft  dame? 

Thyself,  thine  accent,  and  her  garb,  speak  well 
That  from  the  City  of  the  Dove  ye  came." 


XLII. 


"  I'm  one,"  he  said,  "  by  cruel  man  designed 
The  doubtful  faith,  in  absence,  to  protect 

Of  hearts  as  wayward  as  the  desert  wind  ; 

And  which,  despite  of  all,  love  only  can  subject. 


XI. III. 


"  To  care  of  women  nurtured  from  a  boy, 
Stranger,  in  me  a  suffering  wretch  you  see 

Ripened  to  age,  but  in  that  soft  employ 

A  princess'  only  guard,  but  frail  and  weak  as  she. 


"Our  silken  limbs,  by  biting  brambles  torn, 

Have  felt  the  noontide  heat  and  drenching  rain  ; 

And  that  bright  maid,  for  love  and  pleasure  born, 

Breathes  to  the  desert-blast  her  burning  sighs  in  vain. 


"  Yet  have  we  lived  adorers  of  that  Power 

Which  to  the  death-reaped  world  a  race  supplies 
As  numerous  as  the  stars  of  midnight  skies, 

Or  desert  sands,  or  dust  from  every  flower 

That  blossoms  by  the  stream  that  flowed  from  Paradise. 


ZAMBIA.  149 

XLVI. 

"  Divine  Mylitta,  child  of  light,  and  that 

Which  from  dark  nothing  formed  the  teeming  earth ; 
Of  that  which  on  the  circling  waters  sat, 

And  warmed,  and  charmed,  and  ranged,  till   Nature 
sprang  to  birth  !  — 

XLVII. 

"  Divine  Mylitta,  kindler  of  the  flames 

That  light  life's  lamp  !  in  duteousness  to  thee 
I  brought  this  gem,  this  sun  of  Syrian  dames  ; 

But,   now   thy   slave    and   Love's,   thou   mock'st   her 
misery." 

XLVIII. 

Then  Helon  spoke :  "  Has  any  wretch,  more  fell 
Than  he  who  first  his  hurtful  arts  essayed 

On  her  of  Paradise,  done  this  ?     Nay,  tell 
Thy  tale  ;  and  take,  if  we  can  lend  thee,  aid." 

XLIX. 

"  Then  listen,  stranger ;  but  for  Belus'  sake 
Let  her  sleep  on  who  hath  such  need  of  rest," 

Zamei'a's  guardian  said  ;  "  for,  when  awake, 
The  flames  of  Tartarus  are  in  her  breast. 


"  She  sat  and  raved  last  eve  in  the  pale  light 

Till  the  fair  moon  she  looked  on  seemed  to  shrink 

From  her  distress  :  fearing  some  spell  or  blight, 
I  drew  her  to  this  grot,  and  drugged  her  drink." 


ISO  Z6PHIEL. 

LI. 

Then  softly  near  to  her  wild  couch  he  drew, 
Twining  the  tendrils  o'er  her,  as  he  can, 

To  save  from  sun  as  they  had  saved  from  dew ; 

Then  sat  him  on  the  rock,  and  thus  his  story  ran  :  — 

LIT. 

"  The  warrior  Imlec  by  Euphrates'  side 

Received  his  birth  :  there  haply  still  he  thrives ; 

And,  when  he  took  Zameia  for  a  bride, 

His  beard  was  white,  and  he  had  many  wives. 

Lin. 

"  Now,  when  I  tell  thee  her  inconstancy, 
Let  thoughts  of  pity  mingle  with  the  blame 

'Tis  just  to  cast  upon  adultery, 

And  scorn  and  coldness  to  the  nuptial  flame. 

LIV. 

"  There's  oft  which,  were  it  known,  might  wash  away 

Full  half  the  stain  of  guilt :  fame  will  not  heed 
The  train  of  lesser  truths,  but  drags  to  day, 

And  shows  the  shuddering  world,  all  bare  and  black, 
the  deed. 

LV. 

"  There  were  who  said  that  Imlec's  life  was  vile, 
Even  when  possessed  of  all  her  blooming  charms : 

How  could  she  else  than  loathe,  who  knew  the  while 
He  came  exhausted  from  an  Ethiop's  arms? 


ZAMEIA.  151 

LVI. 

"  Whate'er  the  cause,  she  ever  would  rebel : 

Yet,  when  increased,  her  loathing  pleased  him  best ; 

And,  for  caprice  or  love,  it  so  befell, 
He  built  for  her,  apart  from  all  the  rest, 

LVII. 

"  A  precious  palace,  and  a  garden  fair, 
And  gave  to  me  the  charge,  from  every  ill 

To  keep  and  guard  her  well ;  nor  ever  dare, 

Unless  it  wronged  his  love,  to  cross  in  aught  her  will. 

LVIII. 

"  So  she  had  founts  and  birds,  and  gems  and  gold ; 

And  care  of  these  and  her  was  given  to  me ; 
And  Imlec  (in  his  youth  a  warrior  bold) 

Beyond  the  Indus  went  on  embassy. 

LIX. 

"  Do  all  I  could,  she  sullen  grew,  and  sad, 
And  very  oft  the  public  streets  would  see, 

And  oft  (alas  !  what  days  of  fear  I  had  !) 
Her  deep  disgust  for  Imlec  spoke  to  me. 

LX. 

"  I  knew  his  jealousy,  and  was  afraid ; 

For,  if  there  fell  upon  her  fame  a  breath 
(While  treating  with  the  Indian  king  he  staid), 

I  had  been  charged  to  answer  it  with  death. 


152  ZOPHIEL. 


LXT. 


"  What  could  I  ?     Bland  Mylitta,  patroness 

Of  rich  Assyria  and  her  glowing  fair, 
I  sought ;  but  no  propitious  sign  might  bless 

The  milk-white  doves  and  flowers  of  beauty  rare 

LXII. 

"  I  daily  brought :  the  goddess  scorned  my  pains, 
And  turned  from  all  my  gifts  her  heavenly  eyes ; 

For  yet  the  princess  never,  at  her  fanes, 

Of  her  young  charms  had  made  the  sacrifice 

"  Required  of  every  Babylonian  dame, 

Whoe'er  her  lord  or  sire.     This  was  my  care  ; 

And,  when  the  opening  of  the  roses  came, 

With  many  a  votive  wreath  I  led  Zamei'a  there. 

LX1II. 

"  Oh  !  it  was  sweet  to  see  in  marble  pure 

The  semblance  of  the  goddess  while  she  smiled, 

As,  in  her  own  eternal  power  secure, 

She  watched  the  movements  of  her  light-winged  child. 

LXIV. 

"  Nor  e'er  had  icy  marble  la'en  such  charm  ; 

Save  that  the  deity  once,  in  a  dream, 
Came  to  her  sculptor  all  alive  and  warm, 

And  gave  him  power  to  catch  each  glow  and  gleam. 


ZAMEIA.  153 


LXV. 


"  And  sesmed  her  lip  to  deeper  pleasure  changing, 
While  to  her  temple  rushed  the  adoring  crowd, 

And  groups,  almost  as  fair  as  she,  arranging 

Their  offerings  at  her  feet,  in  soft  submission  bowed. 


LXVI. 

"  The  tender  breeze,  that,  sighing  all  about, 
Their  musky  locks  with  roses  woven  greets,  — 

Now  whispering  through  the  myrtle-groves  without, 
Now  fainting  with  variety  of  sweets. 

LXVII. 

"A  fairer  scene  warm  Syria  never  shall 
Behold,  nor  ever  had  beheld  before. 
Full  many  a  stranger  thronged  the  festival ; 

And   here,   whate'er   their  god,  how   could  they  but 
adore  ? 

LXVIII. 

"  But  of  the  gentle  votarists,  some  in  tears, 
And  lips  amidst  their  adoration  quivering, 

While  a  soft  horror  in  their  look  appears, 

Do  all  they  could,  with  fear  and  doubt  were  shivering. 

LXIX. 

"  Some,  formed  for  faith  and  tenderest  constancy, 
But  to  avert  Heaven's  anger  sought  the  place, 

And  breathe  for  absent  lord  the  blameless  sigh, 
And  shudder  at  the  stranger's  rude  embrace. 


154  ZOPHIEL. 


LXX. 


"  Some,  in  whose  panting  hearts  the  natural  void 
Had  never  yet  been  filled,  all  in  a  glow 

Of  dubious  hope,  their  fervid  thoughts  employed 

In  picturing  all  they  wished  a  moment  might  bestow. 


LXXI. 

"  Full  in  the  midst,  and  taller  than  the  rest, 
Zamei'a  stood  distinct ;  and  not  a  sigh 

Disturbed  the  gem  that  sparkled  on  her  breast : 
Her  oval  cheek  was  heightened  to  a  dye 

"  That  shamed  the  mellow  vermeil  of  the  wreath 
Which  in  her  jetty  locks  became  her  well, 

And  mingled  fragrance  with  her  sweeter  breath ; 
The  while  her  haughty  lips  more  beautifully  swell 

"  With  consciousness  of  every  charm's  excess  ; 

While  with  becoming  scorn  she  turned  her  face 
From  every  eye  that  darted  its  caress, 

As  if  some  god  alone  might  hope  for  her  embrace. 

IJCXII. 

"Soon  one,  in  dress  of  noble  Median,  came 
Fresh  from  repose  and  from  the  bath ;  and  he 

To  the  warm  fancy  of  so  proud  a  dame, 

Might  well,  as  then  he  looked,  be  deemed  a  deity. 


ZAMEIA.  155 


LXXIII. 


"  The  tall  ZameTa,  seen  from  all  apart, 

Fixed  his  black  eye ;  and,  as  its  glance  she  caught, 
The  opening  lip,  the  involuntary  start, 

Spoke  more  than  words.     The  stranger  saw,  and  sought. 

LXXIV. 

"  And,  when  the  priest  restored  her  to  my  hands,  — 

'  Goddess,  in  thy  propitiated  power, 
Let  holy  love  now  close  her  nuptial  bands  ! ' 

So  prayed  I  as  we  went.     But  evil  was  the  hour 

V 

"  When  from  her  home  I  led  her :  some  fell  star, 
That,  while  the  sorcerer  culls  his  herbs  malign, 

Favors  his  spell,  with  secret  power  afar 

Reigned  o'er  that  wretched  princess'  birth  and  mine. 

LXXV. 

"  Through  all  the  livelong  night  no  sleep  for  her : 
She  called  me  to  her  couch  at  day's  first  beam, 

But  not  on  lord  or  palace  to  confer : 

Stranger  and  festival,  —  she  would  no  other  theme. 

LXXVI. 

"  I  lent  her  bath  of  perfume  every  art ; 

I  spread  her  banquet  of  the  choicest  store  ; 
I  bade  her  women  touch  their  lutes  apart, 

And  told  her  tales  she  never  heard  before. 


156  Z6PHIEL. 


LXXVII. 


"  Warbled  her  birds,  her  bubbling  fountains  played  ; 

But  bath  and  banquet  all  untouched  remain  ; 
And  to  her  maidens  trilling  in  the  shade 

She  called  impatiently  to  close  the  strain. 


I.XXVIII. 


"  And  all  in  her  neglected  charms  she  lay  : 
Fever  was  in  her  veins  ;  her  pulse  beat  high  ; 

And  on  the  morning  of  the  second  day 
She  said,  '  Neantes,  wilt  thou  see  me  die?' 


LXXIX, 

"  '  Die  ! '  (so  I  spoke.)     '  Venus  forfend  such  sight ! ' 
'  Then,  if  thou  wilt  not,  O  my  friend  !  '  (she  said,) 

'  Go  find  the  lovely  Median  ere  'tis  night : 
Nay,  dear  Neantes,  here  upon  this  bed 

"  '  Else  will  I  spill  my  blood.     The  wall  is  low 
Nearest  Euphrates,  where  pomegranates  bloom 

Among  the  orange-trees.     Nay,  wilt  not  go  ? 
Look  upon  this  !  and  who  shall  tell  my  doom 

"  '  To  Imlec  ? '     Then  that  dagger,  keen  and  bright, 
She  drew  from  'neath  her  robe,  and  bade  me  be 

Content  to  go  and  find  the  Mede  ere  night.  — 
Lord  Imlec,  this  was  treachery  to  thee  ! 


ZAMEIA.  157 


LXXX. 


"  But  well  I  knew  Zamei'a  ;  was  afraid, 

And  bowed  me  to  the  earth,  and  said,  '  Then  be, 
Thou  dearest  wife  of  him  I  serve,  obeyed, 

Though  to  destruction  both  of  thee  and  me.' 


LXXXI. 


"  She  took  the  ruby  from  her  neck  :  '  Give  this  ; 

Tis  red  like  my  life-blood,  and  he  will  know ' 
(She  said,  and  gave  the  jewel  many  a  kiss) 

'  Upon  whose  bosom  he  beheld  it  glow.' 


LXXXII. 


"  Then  as  a  beggar,  all  in  humble  guise, 
I  sat  me  on  the  palace-steps,  and  thence 

Beheld  the  stranger  of  the  sparkling  eyes 
Late  as  he  came  from  kingly  audience. 


LXXXIIT. 

"  Then  I  approached,  and  touched  the  broidered  tie 
That  bound  his  sandal  on  :  he  turned,  and  knew 

The  crimson  token  ;  took  it  silently, 

And,  quickly  mingling  with  the  crowd,  withdrew. 

I.XXXIV. 

"  But  when  all  passed,  and  I  sat  down  alone, 
He  came  again  ;  but,  for  he  knew  his  life 

For  slightest  wrong  to  Iinlec  must  atone, 

Against  the  hope  of  bliss  some  doubt  and  fear  made 
strife. 


ZOPHIEL. 


LXXXV. 


" '  Jewels,'  he  said,  '  are  dim  to  her  dark  eyes  : 
What  precious  gift  shall  match  this  token  dear  ? ' 

'  One  ringlet  of  thy  black  hair  she  will  prize,' 
I  said,  '  beyond  the  gems  of  all  Ophir.' 


LXXXVI. 


"  Then  I  depicted  how  she  wept  and  burned 
And  panted  on  her  couch  ;  nor,  haply,  more 

Would  rise  again  to  life,  when  I  returned, 
If  any  poorer  gift  than  love  and  hope  I  bore. 


LXXXVII. 

"  '  Great  was  the  meed,'  I  said,  '  the  danger  small ; 

The  moon  at  midnight  down  ;  nor  very  high 
Beside  the  river's  brink  her  garden-wall ; 

And  safe  the  path  from  every  hand  and  eye.' 

LXXXVIII. 

"  So,  ere  he  could  depart,  the  hour  of  love 

Was  named  ;  and  this,  my  little  Ethiop,  hung 
A  curious  chain,  of  silken  girdles  wove, 

Down  from  the  wall  where  light  from  bended  date  he 
sprung. 

LXXXIX. 

"  Holy  Euphrates  lowly  murmuring  swept, 
As  if  he  moaned  our  treachery  ;  sadlier  sang 

The  nightingale  :  her  watch  Zameia  kept 

Until  upon  the  flowers  some  being  gently  sprang. 


ZAMEIA.  159 


XC. 


"  It  was  the  Mede ;  and  thrice  returning  night 
With  friendly  veil  of  darkness  hid  their  loves ; 

But  soon  again  the  crescent's  silver  light 

Must  shine  upon  the  deeds  of  Imlec's  weeping  groves. 


xci. 


"  A  light  repast  was  set  forth  in  a  bovver  : 

There  sat  Zamei'a  by  her  lover's  side, 
With  heart  of  bliss  so  lull,  it  had  not  power 

Or  space  for  even  a  thought  of  all  that  might  betide. 


xcn. 


"  But  Meles  said,  '  Should  I  return  no  more, 
Wouldst  thou  this  love's  excess,  so  dear  to  me, 

For  white-haired  Imlec's  coming  keep  in  store  ? 

Or  should  some  other  brave  the  peril  scorned  for  thee  ? 


XCIII. 


" '  Were  it  not  better,  if  my  soul  could  tear 
It  from  thy  sight,  that  Meles  went  his  way 

In  peace  to  seek  some  other  humbler  fair? 

Princess,  my  life  and  thine  are  forfeit  if  I  stay.' 


xciv. 


"  Zamei'a,  paler  than  the  ivory  white 

That  formed  the  pillars  of  her  couch,  exclaimed, 
'  Do  I  not  love  thee  more  than  life  or  light  ? 

And  have  I  lived  to  hear  another  named  ? 


I6O  ZOPHIEL. 


XCY. 


" '  Imlec  to  thee  is  nought !  and  all  in  vain 

His  love  for  me  :  'tis  Meles  I  adore. 
If  danger  come,  be  mine  the  care  and  pain  ! 

Another  !  —  let  me  die,  or  hear  that  word  no  more  ! ' 


xcvi. 


" '  My  own,  my  bright  Zamei'a's  truth,'  he  said  : 

'  'Twas  spoken  but  to  prove.'     And  then  he  smiled, 

And  her,  all  trembling,  to  the  banquet  led ; 

And  love  and  hope  are  twins,  and  so  she  was  beguiled. 


xcvn. 


"  Another  midnight  saw  them  as  before, 

With  banquet  spread,  and  wine  the  lip  to  woo. 

Zamei'a,  'neath  her  robe's  adornment,  wore 

A  steel  half  hid  in  gems  :  he  saw  it  sparkle  through. 


XCVIII. 


"  But  well  he  knew  (with  all  the  tenderness 
Meet  for  a  heart  whose  fires  so  fiercely  burn) 

To  hush  her  doubts.     With  many  a  false  caress 
He  went,  and  many  an  oath  and  promise  of  return. 


xcix. 


"  The  bower  is  lit ;  the  banquet  waits  ;  and  wake 
Love's  votaress  and  her  trembling  slave  :  but  where 

The  lover  wont  to  come,  and  scarce  partake 

E'en  of  the  grape's  sweet  blood  for  gazing  on  his  fair? 


ZAMEJ'A.  l6l 

"  Lone  passed  the  night.     My  beauteous  mistress  faints 
Upon  her  couch,  or  fills  the  frighted  ears 

Of  every  slave  with  passionate  complaints ; 

For  darkly  to  her  soul  her  boding  fate  appears. 


c. 

"  Another  midnight :  still  he  had  not  come  : 

And  thus  she  me  reproached  :  '  All  had  been  bliss, 

Neantes,  but  for  thee.     Is  this  my  doom  ? 
And  was  I  made  an  offering  but  for  this  ? ' 


CI. 

"  '  Alas  ! '  I  answered,  '  I  am  but  a  slave, 

Princess,  ana  thine  :  destroy  me  if  thou  wilt. 

Shall  I  go  look  for  him  the  goddess  gave  ? 
Or  for  thy  pleasure  shall  my  blood  be  spilt  ? ' 


cir. 

"  The  frailest  hope  is  better  than  despair, 
And  many  a  life  a  timely  word  has  saved. 

She  bade  me  to  the  palace,  but  not  there 

To  find  her  Median  more  :  the  stream  that  laved 

"  The  garden  where  they  met,  at  early  morn 
To  his  own  land  had  seen  him  on  his  way : 

Nor  word  nor  token  left  he,  to  be  borne 

To  her  who,  for  his  sake,  sickened  at  light  of  day. 


l62  Z6PHIEL. 

cm. 

"  But  that  it  had  been  death  to  tell  her  then. 

What  means  to  save,  alas  !  could  I  employ? 
That  moment  came  beneath  a  column's  shade, 

To  rest  a  while,  a  dusky  Arab  boy. 

civ. 

"  Quick  came  the  thought.     I  gave  him  gold,  and  craved 

A  cluster  of  his  locks  :  he  gave  me  one, 
And  black  as  earth-hid  ebony  it  waved 

Like  those  of  Meles  :  thanks  to  thee,  O  Sun  ! 

cv. 

"  In  childhood  once,  slave  to  a  scribe,  I  sought 
To  trace  the  character,  and  shape  the  reed ; 

And  sometimes,  when  my  lord  beheld,  he  taught 
A  little  of  his  art ;  and  now  it  served  my  need. 

cvi. 

"  The  choicest  of  the  Arab's  locks  I  dipt, 
And  framed  a  letter  as  from  Meles'  hand  ; 

Then  a  black  ringlet,  first  in  perfumes  dipt, 

Laid  in  the  midst :  nor  words  more  sweet  and  bland 

"  Could  Meles  of  the  honey  lip  indite  : 

'Twas  written  on  papyrus  of  the  Nile, 
Fragrant  with  rose  ;  as  opening  lotos  white  ; 

And  gold  and  silver  dust  in  sprinkles  o'er  it  smile. 


ZAMEIA.  163 


CVII. 


"  'Neath  the  pomegranates  in  the  orange-shade, 
Where  lingered  last  the  Median  (such  my  plan), 

Among  the  falling  blossoms  it  was  laid 

In  secret,  ere  I  came  ;  and  thus,  in  promise,  ran  :  — 


CVIII. 

"  '  Radiant  Zameia,  think  upon  the  pain 
I  bear  in  telling  thee  how  many  a  night 

Must  pass  ere  back  to  Babylon  again 
I  come  to  yield  my  life  to  thy  delight. 

"  '  My  soul  is  sick  with  absence,  while  the  will 
Of  an  unpitying  sovereign  bids  me  wait. 

Preserve  a  little  of  love's  balm  to  heal 

Thy  Meles,  who  returns  at  gathering  of  the  date.' 


cix. 

"  So,  when  among  the  flowers  the  scroll  was  flung, 

Sadly  I  came  at  having  found  him  not ; 
And  near  that  wall,  where  silken  chain  was  hung, 

I  drew  Zamei'a.     On  the  very  spot 

"  Where  her  loved  Meles  spoke  his  last  farewell 
That  princess  kissed  a  camel-driver's  hair  ! 

And  tears  of  joy  (ah,  too  fallacious  !)  fell 

On  what  a  slave's  poor  hand  had  placed  in  pity  there. 


164  ZOPHIEL. 

CX. 

"  Yet,  though  'twas  sad  to  see  her  so  deceived, 

I  could  but  bless  the  tears  her  cheek  was  drinking ; 

For  pity  framed  the  falsehood  hope  believed, 

And  so  by  this  slight  reed  her  soul  was  saved  from 
sinking. 

CXI. 

"  The  gathering  of  the  sweet  and  savory  date 
Approached,  and  Imlec  still  was  far  away. 

Zameia  learned  to  wait  and  hope  and  wait, 
And  blessed  the  powerful  Belus  for  his  stay. 

cxn. 

"  But  as  the  date-tree  sees  her  blossoms  die, 
And  blasted  on  the  earth  her  fruit's  soft  germ, 

Unless  her  vegetable  love  come  nigh 

With  genial  power  while  yet  endures  her  term ; 

CXIII. 

"  So  poor  Zameia's  hopes,  like  date-buds,  down 
Must  fall  to  earth  unblest  and  immature  : 

Alas  !  unless  her  Meles  come  to  crown 

With  fruit,  hope's  blossoms  cannot  long  endure  ! 

cxiv. 

"  The  date  was  ripe  and  plucked ;  but  still  there  came 
No  beauteous  Mede.     Zamei'a  raged  and  pined, 

And  pined  and  hoped  and  wept.     What  could  I  frame? 
With  what  new  bland  deceit  bedew  her  withering  mind  ? 


ZAMBIA.  165 

CXV. 

"  Night  after  night  she  waked  and  waked  :  consumed 

Her  full  round  arms  ;  no  tulip  hue  upon 
Her  sunny  cheek  in  changeful  beauty  bloomed  : 

She  felt  a  dearth,  a  blight,  and  all  was  cold  and  wan. 

"  I  trembled  for  her  life  :  so  when  one  day 

She  glided,  pale,  where  full  pomegranates  glowed, 

Among  the  leaves  another  letter  lay ; 

And  thus,  as  kindly  as  the  first,  it  flowed  :  — 


cxvi. 

"  '  Adored  Zameia  !  if  thou  still  dost  bear 

Enough  of  love  to  feel  a  moment's  pain 
That  Meles,  still  detained  by  toil  and  care, 

Comes  not  to  thee  and  Babylon  again, 

"  '  Though  dates  be  plucked,  I  prithee  wait  a  span : 
For,  when  rich  spices  from  Arabia's  hills 

Load  for  thy  happy  streets  the  caravan, 

I  come  to  keep  the  word  my  panting  soul  fulfils.' 

CXVII. 

"  I  need  not  tell  who  placed  the  letter  there  ; 

And  though  her  reason  made  some  little  strife, 
By  sending  doubt  'gainst  hope,  yet  from  despair 

A  while  her  heart  emerged ;  and  so  was  saved  her  life. 


l66  ZOPHIEL. 


CXVIII. 


"  Again  she  bathed  her  limbs,  and  ate  her  food, 

And  bound  her  streaming  hair,  and  clasped  her  zone. 

Like  the  wild  courser  by  his  wants  subdued, 
So  stooped  her  soul  to  feed  on  this  poor  hope  alone. 

cxix. 

"  The  Median  had  but  lightly  loved  ;  while  she 
Inhaled  a  flame  that  never  ceased  to  prey 

Upon  her  victim  heart :  she  ceased  to  be, 
And,  severed  from  herself,  became,  that  day, 

"  Appendage  to  another.     Not  the  string 

Of  Meles'  sandal,  scarf  about  his  waist, 
Or  feather  for  his  arrows,  was  a  thing 

More  wholly  his  than  she,  so  proud  ere  love  debased  ! 

cxx. 

"  Euphrates'  floods  are  swollen  with  timely  rain  ; 

Cassia  and  myrrh  perfume  the  crowded  streets ; 
The  burthen  from  the  camel's  back  is  ta'en  : 

But  Meles'  footsteps  press  no  flower  in  our  retreats. 

cxxi. 

"  Most  wretched  princess  !  who  her  state  can  show? 

Panting  with  haste,  a  messenger  arrives 
To  tell  (oh  full  completion  of  her  woe  !) 

That  Imlec's  on  his  way,  and  bids  prepare  his  wives. 


ZAMEIA.  167 

cxxir. 

" '  Hide  me,'  she  said,  '  in  some  dark  desert  cave, 

Till  I  can  look  a  moment  on  my  love  ! 
Cast  me,  Neantes,  to  Euphrates'  wave 

Ere  Imlec  come  !  —  O  Venus  !  can  I  prove 

"  '  For  Meles'  ardor  frenzy  of  the  grape, 

The  poppy's  fetid  juice  for  Meles'  breath? — 

Save  me,  Neantes  !  aid  me  to  escape  ! 

If  Imlec  clasp  at  all,  he  clasps  me  cold  in  death  ! ' 

CXXIII. 

"  Her  forceful  words  were  true  :  her  pale,  pale  cheek 
And  tearless  eye  too  strong  concurrence  gave ; 

And  o'erwrought  passion  left  her  form  so  weak, 
But  little  more  had  laid  it  in  the  grave. 

cxxiv. 

"  A  curious  cincture  by  her  mother  wrought, 

Twined  with  a  tress  of  her  black  hair,  was  thrown 

To  the  full  stream  to  baffle  those  who  sought, 
That  by  no  vestige  might  our  course  be  known. 

cxxv. 

"  Enough  to  tell,  upon  a  fearful  night, 

By  the  same  silken  chain  that  Meles  prest, 

The  garden  wall  was  scaled.     Our  piteous  plight, 
This  place,  O  stranger  !  must  declare  the  rest." 

CUBA:  PUEBLO  NUEVO,  September,  1828. 


CANTO   SIXTH. 


BRIDAL    OF    HELON. 


ARGUiMENT. 

Twilight.  —  Egla  alone  in  her  grove  of  acacias.  —  Z6phicl  returns  wounded 
and  dejected,  and  sits  watching  her  invisibly.  —  A  being,  who  wishes  to 
preserve  Egla,  perceives  that  she  is  beset  with  dangers.  —  Zameia  dies 
in  attempting  the  life  of  Egla.  —  Egla  is  reproached  by  a  slave,  faints, 
and  is  supported  by  Helon  :  Helen  and  Hariph  bear  her  home.  —  Egla, 
about  to  destroy  herself,  is  saved  by  Helon,  who  receives  her  in  mar 
riage,  and  puts  Zophiel  to  flight  by  means  of  a  carneol  box.  —  Hariph 
discovers  himself  to  be  the  angel  Raphael ;  seeks  Z6phiel  in  the  deserts 
of  Ethiopia,  and  speaks  to  him  of  hope  and  comfort. 


BRIDAL   OF   HELON. 


SWEET  is  the  evening  twilight ;  but,  alas  ! 

There's  sadness  in  it :  day's  light  tasks  are  done ; 
And  leisure  sighs  to  think  how  soon  must  pass 

Those  tints  that  melt  o'er  heaven,  O  setting  Sun  ! 

And  look  like  heaven  dissolved.     A  tender  flush 
Of  blended  rose  and  purple  light  o'er  all 

The  luscious  landscape  spreads,  —  like  pleasure's  blush, 
And  glows  o'er  wave,  sky,  flower,  and  palm-tree  tall. 


ii. 

'Tis  now  that  solitude  has  most  of  pain  : 
Vague  apprehensions  of  approaching  night 

Whisper  the  soul  attuned  to  bliss,  and  fain 
To  find  in  love  equivalent  for  light. 

171 


ZOPHIEL. 


The  bard  has  sung,  God  never  formed  a  soul 
Without  its  own  peculiar  mate,  to  meet 

Its  wandering  half,  when  ripe  to  crown  the  whole 
Bright  plan  of  bliss,  most  heavenly,  most  complete. 


IV. 

But  thousand  evil  things  there  are  that  hate 
To  look  on  happiness  :  these  hurt,  impede, 

And,  leagued  with  time,  space,  circumstance,  and  fate, 
Keep  kindred  heart  from  heart,  to  pine  and  pant  and 
bleed. 

And  as  the  dove  to  far  Palmyra  flying 

From  where  her  native  founts  of  Antioch  beam, 

Weary,  exhausted,  longing,  panting,  sighing, 
Lights  sadly  at  the  desert's  bitter  stream  ; 

So  many  a  soul  o'er  life's  drear  desert  faring,  — 

Love's  pure  congenial  spring  unfound,  unquaffed,  — 

Suffers,  recoils ;  then,  thirsty  and  despairing 

Of  what  it  would,  descends,  and  sips  the  nearest  draught. 


v. 

'Tis  twilight  in  fair  Egla's  grove  :  her  eye 
Is  sad  and  wistful ;  while  the  hues  that  glint 

In  soft  profusion  o'er  the  molten  sky 

O'er  all  her  beauty  spread  a  mellower  tint. 


BRIDAL    OF    HELON.  1/ 

VI. 

And,  formed  in  every  fibre  for  such  love 
As  Heaven  not  yet  had  given  her  to  share, 

Through  the  deep  shadowy  vistas  of  her  grove 
Sent  looks  of  vvistfulness.     No  Spirit  there 

Appears  as  wont :  for  many  a  month  so  long 
He  had  not  left  her :  what  could  so  detain? 

She  took  her  lute,  and  tuned  it  for  a  song, 

The  while  spontaneous  words  accord  them  to  a  strain 

Taught  by  enamoured  Zdphiel :  softly  heaving 
The  while  her  heart,  thus  from  its  inmost  core 

Such  feelings  gushed,  to  Lydian  numbers  weaving, 
As  never  had  her  lip  expressed  before  :  — 

VII. 

SONG. 

Day  in  melting  purple  dying, 
Blossoms  all  around  me  sighing, 
Fragrance  from  the  lilies  straying, 
Zephyr  with  my  ringlets  playing, 

Ye  but  waken  my  distress  : 

I  am  sick  of  loneliness. 

Thou  to  whom  I  love  to  hearken, 
Come  ere  night  around  me  darken  : 
Though  thy  softness  but  deceive  me, 
Say  thou'rt  true,  and  I'll  believe  thee. 

Veil,  if  ill,  thy  soul's  intent : 

Let  me  think  it  innocent ! 


174  Z6PHIEL. 

Save  thy  toiling,  spare  thy  treasure  : 
All  I  ask  is  friendship's  pleasure  : 
Let  the  shining  ore  lie  darkling  ; 
Bring  no  gem  in  lustre  sparkling ; 

Gifts  and  gold  are  nought  to  me 
I  would  only  look  on  thee  ; 

Tell  to  thee  the  high-wrought  feeling, 

Ecstasy  but  in  revealing ; 

Paint  to  thee  the  deep  sensation, 

Rapture  in  participation, 

Yet  but  torture,  if  comprest 
In  a  lone  unfriended  breast. 


Absent  still?     Ah,  come  and  bless  me  ! 

Let  these  eyes  again  caress  thee. 

Once,  in  caution,  I  could  fly  thee  : 

Now  I  nothing  could  deny  thee. 

In  a  look  if  death  there  be, 
Come,  and  I  will  gaze  on  thee  ! 


VIII. 

An  unknown  spirit,  who  for  many  a  year 
Had  marked  in  Helon  passing  excellence, 

And  loved  to  watch  o'er  Egla  too,  came  near 

This  eve ;    but  other  cares  had  long  time  kept  him 
hence. 


BRIDAL    OF    IIELON. 


IX. 


A  lute-chord  sounds  :  hark  !  for  a  tender  hymn 
To  bear  to  heaven  he  pauses  in  his  flight : 

Alas  !  it  is  not  heaven  that  lends  her  theme  ! 
Nay,  if  he  leave  her,  she  is  lost  to-night. 


x. 


He  starts ;  he  looks  through  the  light,  trembling  shade, 
And  fears,  e'en  now,  his  coming  is  too  late  : 

What  varied  perils  have  beset  the  maid  ! 
She  verges  to  the  crisis  of  her  fate. 


XI. 


He  gazes  on  her  guileless  face,  and  grieves : 
There's  treachery  even  in  her  own  lute's  sound  ; 

And  things  his  heavenly  sense  alone  perceives, 
Unseen  amidst  the  flowers  lurk  close  around. 


And  Zdphiel  too,  late  from  the  deep  returned 

In  such  a  state  'twas  piteous  but  to  see, 
Watched  near  the  maid  —  whose  love  he  fain  had  earned 

By  fiercer  torments  still  —  invisibly. 

xm. 

His  wings  were  folded  o'er  his  eyes  :  severe 

As  was  the  pain  he'd  borne  from  wave  and  wind, 

The  dubious  warning  of  that  Being  drear 
Who  met  him  in  the  lightning,  to  his  mind 


176  ZOPHIEL. 

Was  torture  worse  :  a  dark  presentiment 
Came  o'er  his  soul  with  paralyzing  chill, 

As  when  Fate  vaguely  whispers  her  intent 

To  poison  mortal  joy  with  sense  of  pending  ill. 

XIV. 

He  searched  about  the  grove  with  all  the  care 

Of  trembling  jealousy,  as  if  to  trace 
By  track  or  wounded  flower  some  rival  there  ; 

And  scarcely  dared  to  look  upon  the  face 

Of  her  he  loved,  lest  it  some  tale  might  tell 
To  make  the  only  hope  that  soothed  him  vain. 

He  hears  her  notes  in  numbers  die  and  swell, 
But  almost  fears  to  listen  to  the  strain 

Himself  had  taught  her,  lest  some  hated  name 
Had  been  with  that  dear  gentle  air  imvreathed 

While  he  was  far.     She  sighed  :  he  nearer  came  : 
Oh  transport !  Zophiel  was  the  name  she  breathed  ! 

xv. 

He  saw  but  her,  and  thought  her  all  alone  : 
His  name  was  on  her  lip  in  hour  like  this  ! 

And,  doting,  —  drinking  every  look  and  tone,  — 
Paused,  ere  he  would  advance,  for  very  bliss. 

xvr. 

The  joy  of  a  whole  mortal  life  he  felt 

In  that  one  moment.     Now,  too  long  unseen, 


BRIDAL    OF    MELON.  177 

He  fain  had  shown  his  beauteous  form,  and  knelt ; 
But,  while  he  still  delayed,  a  mortal  rushed  between. 

XVII. 

Tall  .was  her  form  ;  her  quivering  lip  was  pale  ; 

Long  streamed  her  hair ;  and  glared  her  wild  dark  eye ; 
And,  grasping  Egla's  arm,  —  "  No  arts  avail 

Thee  now  !     Vile  murderess  of  my  Meles,  die  ! " 

She  said  :  her  dagger  at  soft  Egla's  breast 

Touched  the  white  folded  robe ;  but,  failing  breath 

And  strength,  at  once  that  frenzied  arm  arrest ; 

And,  sinking  to  the  earth,  Zamei'a  groaned  in  death. 

XVIII. 

This  Orpha  saw,  —  a  slave,  a  sullen  maid, 
But  beautiful ;  whose  glance  Rosanes  caught 

While  yet  the  captives  at  the  palace  staid, 
And  secretly  caressed  until  he  taught 

The  haughty  girl,  impatient  of  her  fate, 

A  hope  that  gave  her,  in  her  lowliness, 
The  wild  ambition  of  a  higher  state. 

But  who  can  paint  the  depth  of  her  distress, 

When  he  had  gone  to  seek  the  dangerous  bride, 
And  when  the  following  morn  his  death  revealed? 

Hate,  envy,  love,  sorrow,  hopes  crushed,  —  all  vied 
To  nurture  the  revenge  her  withering  heart  concealed. 


1/8  26PHIEL. 

XIX. 

Twas  she  who  told  Zame'ia  of  the  doom 

Of  her  loved  Mede,  and  led  her  to  the  breast 
She  burned  to  pierce.     Now  from  her  heart  of  gloom 
Burst   the   deep    smouldering    rage    thus    bitterly  ex 
pressed  :  — 

xx. 

"  Another  murder  !     Sorceress,  to  me 

Tell  not  a  Spirit  did  it :  I  know  well 
What  wanton  thing  thou  art :  was't  not  by  thee 

Rosanes,  Meles,  young  Altheetor  fell, 

"  Lured  by  thine  arts  to  glut  a  love  as  dread 
As  that  fell  queen's,  who  every  morning  spilt 

The  separate  life  that  warmed  her  nightly  bed, 

Closing,  with  death's  cold  seal,  lips  that  might  tell  her 
guilt?" 

XXI. 

Then  came  Neantes,  knelt,  and  bathed  with  tears 
The  lost  Zame'ia's  form  :  'twas  dim  and  cold  ; 

But  the  strong  cast  of  beauty  still  appears, 

Though  o'er  her  brow  the  last  chill  dews  had  rolled. 

XXII. 

And,  as  he  held  the  taper  hand  in  his 

Of  his  loved  mistress  (with  a  piteous  look 

On  Egla  cast),  his  sole  reproach  was  this, 

Half  checked   by  rising   sobs   that   burst   forth  as  he 
spoke  :  — 


BRIDAL    OF    HELON.  1 79 


XXIII. 


"  Oh  !  warm  with  health  and  beauty  as  them  art, 
Couldst  thou  have  seen  her  as  I  have,  —  then  reft 

Of  all,  —  and  known  the  torments  of  her  heart, 
Thou  hadst  not  ta'en  what  little  life  was  left." 

XXIV. 

The  attempted  deed,  the  scene,  the  bitter  word, 
Like  knot  of  serpents,  each  with  separate  sting, 

Pierced,  each  and  all,  more  keenly  than  a  sword, 
Through  Egla's  heart,  that  bled  while  answering  :  — 

"  Cease,  cease  !  I  killed  her  not,  nor  knew  such  one 
There  lived  on  earth.     Alas  !  her  purpose  rough, 

Would  to  high  Heaven,  ere  she  had  died,  were  done  !  — 
O  Power  that  formed  me  !  was  it  not  enough 

"  To  bear  perpetual  solitude  and  gloom  ? 

Must  I,  too,  live  a  theme  of  foul  reproach 
To  stranger  and  to  slave  ?     The  tomb,  the  tomb, 

Is  all  I  ask  !     Oh  !  do  I  ask  too  much?  " 

XXV. 

She  said,  and  swooned  :  so  Helon,  not  in  vain, 

Searched    wandering    for    his    guide     (he    knew   not 

whither), 
To  lead  him  to  the  gates  of  Ecbatane ; 

And   haply,  though   unseen,  his   guide   had   led   him 
hither. 


ISO  ZOPHIEL. 


XXVI. 


He  saw  Zameia  on  the  earth  laid  low ; 

And  Egla,  faint,  but  fresh  in  all  her  charms, 
Had  sunk  beside  the  corse  for  weight  of  woe 

But  for  the  timely  aid  of  his  receiving  arms. 


XXVII. 


The  group,  the  dead,  the  form  his  arms  sustain, 
The  trembling  leaves,  the  twilight's  fading  gleam, 

Confuse  :  the  youth  distrusts  both  eye  and  brain  ; 
For  'gainst  his  heart  he  sees  the  image  of  his  dream. 

XXVIII. 

But  faithful  Hariph  soon  was  at  his  side, 

In  search  of  whom  had  Helon  chanced  to  roam  : 

"  Ask  nothing,  youth,  but  haste  with  me  !  "  he  cried. 
"  Life  has  not  left  the  maiden  :  bear  her  home." 

XXIX. 

~"~\ 

They  laid  her^ker  on  her  couch,  and  in  her  sire 

Found  him  they  sought,  and  in  her  dwelling  staid. 
Sephora  sat  her  by  the  perfumed  fire 
All  night,  and  watched  her  child,  yet  sore  afraid 

Of  her  enamoured  Spirit,  —  well  she  knew 
The  presence  of  a  mortal  vexed  his  will,  — 

And  mused  on  Helen's  youth  ;  and  could  but  view, 
In  thought,  another  scene  of  death  and  ill. 


BRIDAL    OF    HELON.  l8l 

XXX. 

Egla  lay  drowned  in  grief,  and  could  not  speak, 
But  calmed  at  morn  the  tumult  of  her  breast, 

And  kissed  her  mother  thrice  ;  then  bade  her  seek, 
And  warn,  and  save  from  death,  the  stranger  guest. 

xxxr. 

And  through  her  window  when  the  deepening  glows 

Of  pensive  twilight  told  another  day 
Was  spent,  to  bathe  that  fatal  form  she  rose, 

Bound  cincture  o'er  her  robe,  and  sent  her  maids  away. 

XXXII. 

Alone,  she  thought  how  Helon  had  sustained 
And  saved,  for  his  own  doom,  her  fatal  breath ; 

Zamei'a,  Orpha  too  :  why  still  remained 

Her  own  scorned  life  the  cause  of  so  much  death  ? 

XXXIII. 

She  could  not  pray ;  and  to  her  aching  eye 
Would  come  no  sweet  relief,  no  wonted  tear ; 

For  one  of  those  dark  things  that  lurked  was  by, 
And  whispered  thoughts  of  horror  in  her  ear. 

xxxiv. 

Then  on  his  sad  unguarded  victim  fixed, 
And  coldly,  to  her  wounded  bosom's  core, 

Infused  him  like  some  fell  disease,  and  mixed 
His  being  with  her  blood  :  all  hope  was  o'er, 


1 82  ZOPIIIEL. 

All  fear,  all  nature,  —  all  was  bitterness  : 

She  felt  her  heart  within  her  like  a  clod ; 
And,  when  at  length  the  sullen  deep  distress 

Found  utterance,  thus   she   spoke   ungrateful   to   her 
God:- 

XXXV. 

"  Was  but  my  infant  life  for  tortures  worse 

Than  flame  or  sword  preserved  ?    On  me  —  on  me  — 
Falls  the  whole  burthen  of  my  nation's  curse  ? 

Of  all  offence  I  bear  the  misery  ! 

XXXVI. 

"  O  Power  that  made  !  thou'st  been  profuse  of  pain, 
And  I  have  borne  ;  but  now  is  past  the  hour  : 

I  ask  no  mitigation,  —  that  were  vain  : 

Wreak,  wreak  on  me  thy  whole  avenging  power  ! 

XXXVII. 

"Yet  wherefore  more  the  doom  I  wish  delay? 

Dissolve  me  :  oh  !  as  earth  I  was  before, 
Change  this  fair-colored  form  to  silent  gray, 

And  let  my  weary  organs  feel  no  more  !  " 

XXXVIII. 

She  paused  :  "  'Tis  written  thus  :  '  Thou  shalt  not  kill.' 

Yet  deeper  were  the  crime  to  keep  a  life 
Torture  to  me,  to  others  death  and  ill : 

So  in  thy  presence,  God,  I  end  my  nature's  strife  ! " 


BRIDAL    OF    HELON.  183 

XXXIX. 

Then  from  her  waist  she  took  the  girdle  blue  ; 

Looked  on  the  world  without,  but  breathed  no  sigh  ; 
Then  calmly  o'er  the  window's  carving  threw 

That  scarf,  and  round  her  neck  wound  thrice  the  silken 
tie. 


Where,  in  that  hour,  was  Z6phiel  ?     All  in  vain 
He  burns,  with  love  and  jealous  rage  impelled  : 

With  the  dark  Being  of  the  storm  again 

He  strives  and  struggles  in  the  grove,  withheld 

From  her  he  loves  ;  had  seen  her  borne  away 
Before  his  very  eyes  ;  and  now,  perforce, 

Could  only  look  where,  newly  murdered,  lay 
The  lost  Zamei'a's  pale  and  breathless  corse. 

XLI. 

Whichever  Spirit  conquers  in  the  strife, 
Alas  for  Egla  !     Now  her  hands  intwine 

The  guilty  knot  ;  she  springs.     "  Hold,  hold  !  thy  life, 
Maiden,  is  not  thine  own,  but  God's  and  mine  !  " 

XLII. 

'Twas  Helon's  voice  :  but  still  the  legate  fiend, 
Reluctant  to  resign  her,  would  not  part  ; 

But  by  his  secret,  subtle  nature  screened, 

Even  from  Spirits,  through  her  brain  and  heart 


1 84  Z6PH1EL. 

Darted  like  pain.     The  youth  with  firm  embrace 

Holds  and  protects ;  but,  writhing,  vexed,  and  thrown, 

She  could  not  even  look  upon  his  face, 
And  answered  all  he  said  but  with  a  moan. 

XLIII. 

Helon  bent  o'er,  and  murmured,  "  Calm  those  fears : 

To  be  my  bride  already  art  thou  given  ! 
And  I  am  he,  who,  in  thy  childish  years, 

Was  in  thy  grove  announced  to  thee  by  Heaven." 

XLIV. 

She  seemed  to  listen  :  soon  her  moans  were  hushed  • 
She  caught  his  words  thus  suffering  and  possest ; 

From  her  torn  heart  a  grateful  torrent  gushed, 
And  love  expelled  the  demon  from  her  breast. 

XLV. 

Still  Helon  held,  and  soothed,  and  timely  drew 
Near  to  the  vase  of  perfumes  nightly  burning, 

And,  from  his  open  box  of  carneol,  threw 

All  it  contained.     'Twas  well :  Z6phiel  returning, 

That  moment  'scaped  from  him  whose  malice  held, 
Rushed  fiercely  anxious  to  a  scene  of  love 

Approved  by  Heaven.     Oh  torture  !  he  beheld 
A  stranger's  arm  intwine  !     Eager  to  prove 

That  power  to  mortal  rival  late  so  fell, 
Enough  had  been  a  moment  for  his  ire  : 


BRIDAL    OF    HELON.  185 

But  a  strange  force  he  vainly  strove  to  quell, 
Insufferable,  from  the  perfume  fire, 

Rushed  forth,  resistless  as  his  Maker's  breath ; 

And  when  he  fain  would  place  him  by  the  bed, 
Which,  but  to  touch,  had  been  gay  Meles'  death, 

He  felt  him  hurled  away,  uttered  a  shriek,  and  fled. 

XLVI. 

But  Helon  lives,  supporting  still  the  maid 

O'erwhelmed  with  hopes  and  fears,  and  all  o'erspent 

With  recent  pain.     "  Didst  hear  that  shriek?  "  he  said  : 
"  The  Sprite  has  left  us  :  kneel  with  me  !  "     They  knelt 

Them  both  to  earth,  —  the  bridegroom  and  his  bride, 
So  filled  with  present  joy,  the  past  was  dim  : 

'Twas  rapture  now,  whatever  might  betide ; 

And  pain  to  her  were  bliss,  so  it  were  shared  with  him. 

XLVII. 

Then  prayed  he  :  "  Heaven,  if  either  have  offended, 
Punish  us  now  !  avenge  !  but  with  one  breath 

Let  our  so-late-united  lives  be  ended  ! 

Let  her  be  mine,  and  give  me  life  or  death  ! " 

XLVIIT. 

Then  she  :  "  If  now  I  die,  I  die  his  wife, 
And  fully  blest,  O  Heaven,  await  my  doom  ! 

Nor  would  exchange  for  thousand  years  of  life 
The  dearer  privilege  to  share  his  tomb. 


186  ZOPHIEL. 


XLIX. 


"  Yet,  if  we  die  not,  Maker,  to  him  give 

Light  from  thy  source  :  so  shall  my  sin  be  less 

In  thine  account ;  for,  oh  !  I  ne'er  can  live 
Other,  with  him,  than  his  idolatress." 


"  Let  me  adore  thy  image  as  I  gaze 

On  her  fair  eyes  now  raised  with  mine  to  thee ; 
And  let  her  find,  while  flow  our  years  and  days, 

To  feed  her  love,  some  spark  of  thee  in  me," 

LI. 

(He  said  :)   "  thus,  as  we  kneel,  no  wild  desire 
Blends  with  our  voices  in  unhallowed  sighs. 

Spirit,  to  thee  we  quench  the  nuptial  fire  : 
Look  down  propitious  on  the  sacrifice  ! 

LII. 

"  Receive  it  as  a  token  that  our  love 
Is  of  the  soul ;  and,  if  our  lives  endure, 

Spirit,  who  sit'st  diffusing  life  above, 

Look  on  our  union,  and  pronounce  it  pure  !  " 

LIII. 

While  thus  they  prayed,  Hariph  her  kindred  brought 
To  listen  to  them  :  thus,  as,  one  by  one, 

Rose  their  heart-offerings,  sense  subdued  by  thought, 
"  This  borne  to  heaven,"  he  said,  "  my  task  is  done. 


BRIDAL    OF    HELON.  iS/ 


LIV. 


"  Call  me  no  longer  Hariph  :  I  but  took, 

For  love  of  that  young  pair,  this  mortal  guise ; 

And  often  have  I  stood  beside  Heaven's  book, 
And  given  in  record  there  their  deeds  and  sighs. 


LV. 


"  From  infancy  I've  watched  them,  far  apart, 

Oppressed  by  men  and  fiends,  yet  formed  to  dwell 

Soul  blent  with  soul,  and  beating  heart  'gainst  heart : 
Tis  done.     Behold  the  angel  Raphael ! 


LVI. 


"  That  blest  commission,  friend  of  men,  I  bear, 
To  comfort  those  who  undeservedly  mourn ; 

And  every  good  resolve,  kind  tear,  heart-prayer, 
'Tis  mine  to  show  before  the  Eternal's  throne. 


LVII. 


"  And  oft  I  haste,  and,  when  the  good  and  true 
Are  headlong  urged  to  deep  pollution,  save, 

Just  as  my  wings  receive  some  drops  of  dew, 
Which  else  must  join  Asphaltites'  black  wave," 


LVIII. 


H e  said,  all  o'er  to  radiant  beauty  warming  : 
While  they,  in  doubt  of  what  they  looked  upon, 

Beheld  a  form  dissolving,  dazzling,  charming ; 
But,  ere  their  lips  found  utterance,  it  was  gone. 


1 88  ZOPHIEL. 


LIX. 


Afar  that  pitying  angel  bent  his  flight, 

In  anxious  search,  revolving  in  his  breast 

Of  a  once  heavenly  brother's  wretched  plight : 

Torn  from  his  last  dear  hope,  where  could  he  rest? 


LX. 


Hurled  'gainst  his  will,  the  suffering  Z6phiel  went 

To  the  remotest  of  Egyptia's  bounds  : 
Demons  pursued  to  view  his  punishment, 

And  with  his  shrieks  the  desert  blast  resounds. 

LXI. 

Dark  shadowy  fiends,  invidious  that  he  joyed 
In  love  and  beauty  still,  less  deeply  curst 

Than  they,  of  late  had  leagued  them,  and  employed 
All  arts  to  crush  and  foil.     Now,  as  when  first 

Expelled  from  heaven  they  saw  him  writhe,  and  while 
He  groans,  and  clasps  the  earth,  sit  them  beside, 

Ask  questions  of  his  bliss,  and  then  with  smile 
Recount  his  baffled  schemes,  and  linger  to  deride. 

LXII. 

And,  when  they  fled,  he  hid  him  in  a  cave, 

Strewn  with  the  bones  of  some  sad  wretch,  who  there, 

Apart  from  men,  had  sought  a  desert  grave, 
And  yielded  to  the  demon  of  despair. 


BRIDAL    OF    HELON.  189 


LXIII. 

There  beauteous  Z6phiel,  shrinking  from  the  ray, 
Envying  the  wretch  that  so  his  life  had  ended, 

Wailed  his  eternity.     He  fain  would  pray, 
But  could  not  pray  to  one  he  had  offended. 

LXIV. 

The  fiercest  pains  of  death  had  been  relief, 
And  yet  his  quenchless  being  might  not  end. 

Hark  !  Raphael's  voice  breaks  sweetly  on  his  grief:  — 
"  Hope,    Z6phiel !    hope,  hope,   hope !    thou   hast   a 
friend  ! " 

CUBA,  CAFETAL  SAN  ANDRES,  January,  1829. 


MISCELLANEOUS    PIECES. 


ODE   TO   THE    DEPARTED. 

"  Con   Vistas  del  Cielo." 

THE  dearth  is  sore  :  the  orange  leaf  is  curled. 
There's  dust  upon  the  marble  o'er  thy  tomb, 
My  Edgar,1  fair  and  dear  : 
Though  the  fifth  sorrowing  year 
Hath  passed  since  first  I  knew  thine  early  doom, 
I  see  thee  still,  though  Death  thy  being  hence  hath  hurled. 

I  could  not  bear  my  lot,  now  thou  art  gone,  — 
With  heart  o'er-softened  by  the  many  tears 
Remorse  and  grief  have  drawn,  — 
Save  that  a  gleam,  a  dawn 
(Haply  of  that  which  lights  thee  now),  appears 
To  unveil  a  few  fair  scenes  of  Life's  next  coming  morn. 

"What,  where,  is  heaven?"  earth's  sweetest  lips  exclaim. 
In  all  the  holiest  seers  have  writ  or  said, 
Blurred  are  the  pictures  given  : 
We  know  not  what  is  heaven, 
Save  by  those  views  mysteriously  spread 
When  the  soul  looks  afar  by  light  of  her  own  flame. 

1  The  son  of  Mrs.  Brooks.  191 


192  ODE    TO    THE    DEPARTED. 

Yet  all  our  spirits,  while  on  earth  so  faint, 
By  glimpses  dim,  discern,  conceive,  or  know, 
The  Eternal  Power  can  mould 
Real  as  fruits  or  gold, 
Bid  the  celestial  roseate  matter  glow, 
And  forms  more  perfect  smile  than  artists  carve  or  paint. 


To  realize  every  creed  conceived 

In  mortal  brain  by  love  and  beauty  charmed  — 
Even  like  the  ivory  maid, 
Who,  as  Pygmalion  prayed, 

Oped  her  white  arms,  to  life  and  feeling  warmed  — • 
Would  lightly  task  the  power  of  life's  great  Chief  believed. 


If  Grecian  Phidias,  in  stone  like  this 

Thy  tomb,  could  do  so  much,  what  cannot  He, 
Who  from  the  cold,  coarse  clod 
By  reckless  laborer  trod 
Can  call  such  tints  as  meeting  seraphs  see, 
And  give  them  breath  and  warmth  like  true  love's  soul- 
felt  kiss? 


Wild  fears  of  dark  annihilation,  go  ! 

Be  warm,  ye  veins,  now  blackening  with  despair  ! 
Years  o'er  thee  have  revolved, 
My  first-born  ;  thou'rt  dissolved,  — 
All  —  every  tint  —  save  a  few  ringlets  fair  : 
Still,  if  thou  didst  not  live,  how  could  I  love  thee  so? 


ODE    TO    THE    DEPARTED.  I 93 

Quick  as  the  warmth  which  darts  from  breast  to  breast 
When  lovers  from  afar  each  other  see. 
Haply  thy  spirit  went, 
Where  mine  would  fain  be  rent, 
To  take  a  heavenly  form,  designed  to  be 
Meet  dwelling  for  the  soul  thine  azure  eye  expressed. 


Thy  deep  blue  eye  !  —  say,  can  heaven's  bliss  exceed 
The  joy  of  some  brief  moments  tasted  here? 
Ah  !  could  I  taste  again  ! 
Is  there  a  mode  of  pain 

Which  for  such  guerdon  could  be  deemed  severe  ? 
Be  ours  the  forms  of  heaven,  and  let  me  bend  and  bleed  ! 


To  be  in  place,  even  like  some  spots  on  earth, 
In  those  sweet  moments  when  no  ill  comes  near ; 
Where  perfumes  round  us  wreathe, 
And  the  pure  air  we  breathe 
Nerves  and  exhilarates ;  while  all  we  hear 
So  tells  content  and  love,  we  sigh,  and  bless  our  birth ; 


To  clasp  thee,  Edgar,  in  a  fragrant  shape 
Of  fair  perfection,  after  death's  sad  hour, 
Known  as  the  same  I've  prest 
Erst  to  this  aching  breast,  — 
The  same,  but  finished  by  a  kind,  bland  Power, 
Which  only  stopped  thy  heart  to  let  thy  soul  escape,  — 


194  ODE    TO    THE    DEPARTED. 

Oh  !  every  pain  that  vexed  thy  mortal  life, 

Nay,  even  the  lives  of  all  who  round  me  lie,  — 
Be  this  one  bliss  my  share, 
The  whole  condensed  I'll  bear, 
Bless  the  benign  creative  hand,  and  sigh, 
And  kneel  to  ask  again  the  expiatory  strife, — 

Strife,  for  the  hope  of  making  others  blest, 
Who  trespassed  only  that  they  were  not  brave 
Enough  to  bear  or  take 
Pains,  even  for  pity's  sake,  — 
Strife,  for  the  hope  to  wake,  incite,  and  save 
Even  those  who,  dull  with  crime,  know  not  fair  Honor's 
zest. 

If  in  the  pauses  of  my  agony 

(Be  it  or  flame,  stab,  scourge,  or  pestilence), 
If,  fresh  and  blest  as  dear, 
Thou'lt  come  in  beauty  near, 

Speak,  and  with  looks  of  love  charm  my  keen  sense, 
I'll  deem  it  heaven  enough  even  thus  to  feel  and  see ; 

To  feel  my  hand  wrenched  as  with  mortal  rack, 
Then  see  it  healed,  and  ta'en,  and  kindly  prest, 
And  fair  as  blossoms  white 
Of  cerea  in  the  night ; 
While  tears  that  fall  upon  thy  spotless  breast 
Are  sweet  as  drops  from  flowers  touched  in  thy  heavenly 
track  ! 


ODE    TO    THE    DEPARTED.  1C 

In  form  to  bear  nor  stain  nor  scar  designed,  — 
Yes  !  let  me  kneel  to  agonize  again ; 
Ask  every  torment  o'er 
More  poignant  than  before  : 
Of  a  whole  world  the  price  of  a  whole  pain 
Were  small  for  such  blest  gifts  of  matter  and  of  mind  ! 

Comes  a  cold  doubt,  —  that  still  thou  art  alive, 
Edgar,  my  heart  tells,  while  these  numbers  thrill, 
Yet  of  a  bliss  so  dear, 
And  as  Death's  portal's  near 
I  feel  me  too  unworthy  :  dreary  Time, 
I  fear,  must  bear  his  part  ere  Hope  her  plight  fulfil ! 


Time,  time  was  meet  (so  many  a  sacred  scroll 
Has  told  and  tells)  ere  light  was  bid  to  smile ; 
Ere  yet  the  spheres,  revealed, 
Gave  music  as  they  wheeled ; 
Warm,  rife,  eternal  love  —  a  time  —  a  while  — 
Brooded  and  charmed  and  ranged  till  chaos  gloomed  no 
more. 


As  time  was  needful  ere  a  world  could  bloom 
With  forms  of  flowers  and  flesh,  haply  must  wait 
Some  spirits  ;  and,  lingering  still, 
Of  deeds  both  good  and  ill 
Mark  the  effect  in  intermediate  state, 
And  think  and  pause  and  weep  even  over  their  own  tomb. 


196  ODE    TO    THE    DEPARTED. 

Be  it  so  :  if,  thin  as  fragrance,  light,  or  heat, 
Thine  essence,  floating  on  the  ambient  air, 
Can  with  freed  intellect 
View  every  deed's  effect, 
Read  even  my  heart  in  all  its  pantings  bare, 
When  denser  pulses  cease,  how  sweet  even  thus  to  meet ; 

To  roam  those  deep  green  aisles  crowned  with  tall  palms, 
And  weep  for  all  who  tire  of  toil  and  ill, 
While  moons  of  winter  bring 
Their  blossoms  fair  as  spring  •, 
To  move,  unseen  by  all  we've  left,  and  will 
Such  influence  to  their  souls  as  half  their  pain  becalms ; 

On  deep  Mohecan's l  mounts  to  view  the  spot 

Where,  as  these  arms  were  oped  to  clasp  thee,  came 
The  tidings,  dread  and  cold, 
I  nevermore  might  hold 
Thy  pulsing  form,  nor  meet  the  gentle  flame 
Of  thy  fair  eyes  till  mine  for  those  of  earth  were  not ; 

On  precipice  where  the  gray  citadel 
Hangs  over  Ladaiianna's 2  billows  clear, 
How  sweet  to  pause  and  view 
As  erst  the  far  canoe  ; 

To  glide  by  friends  who  know  not  we  are  near, 
And  hear  them  of  ourselves  in  tender  memory  tell ; 

1  "  Mohecan,"  aboriginal  name  of  the  Hudson. 

2  "  Ladaiianna,"  aboriginal  name  of  the  St.  Lawrence. 


ODE    TO    THE    DEPARTED.  IQ/ 

Or,  where  Niagara  with  maddening  roar 
Shakes  the  worn  cliff,  haply  to  flit,  and  ken 
Some  angel,  as  he  sighs 
With  pleasure  at  the  dyes 
Of  the  wild  depth,  while  to  the  eyes  of  men 
Invisible  we  speak  by  signs  unknown  before ; 

Or,  far  from  this  wild  Western  world,  where  dwelt 
That  brow  whose  laurels  bore  a  leaf  for  mine, 
When,  strong  in  sympathy, 
Thy  sprite  shall  roam  with  me, 
Edgar,  'mid  Derwent's  flowers,  one  soul  benign 
May  to  thy  soul  impart  the  joy  I  there  have  felt ! 

What  though,  "  imprisoned  in  the  viewless  winds," 

'Mid  storms  and  rocks,  like  earthly  ship,  we're  dashed, 
Unsevered  while  we're  blent, 
We'll  bear  in  sweet  content 
The  shock  of  falling  bolt  or  forest  crashed, 
While  thoughts  of  hope  and  love  nerve  well  our  mystic 
minds. 

Wafted  or  wandering  thus,  souls  may  be  found 
Or  ripe  for  forms  of  heaven,  or  for  that  state 
Of  which,  when  angels  think, 
Or  saints,  they  weep  and  shrink, 
And  oft,  to  draw  or  save  from  such  dread  fate, 
Are  fain  their  beauteous   heads   to  dash   'gainst  blood 
stained  ground. 


IQo  ODE    TO    THE    DEPARTED. 

Freed  from  their  earthly  gyves,  if  spirits  laugh 
And  shriek  with  horrid  joy  when  victims  bleed 
Or  suffer  as  we  view 
Mortals  in  vileness  do, 

The  Eternal  and  his  court  may  keep  their  meed 
Of  joy  :  far  other  cups  fell  thirsty  Guilt  must  quaff! 

O  Edgar  !  spirit  or  on  earth  or  air, 
Seen  or  impalpable  to  artist's  sketch, 
In  essence  or  in  form, 
In  bliss,  pain,  calm,  or  storm, 
Let  us,  wherever  met  a  suffering  wretch, 
Task  every  power  to  shield  and  save  him  from  despair  ! 

Nature  hath  secrets  mortals  ne'er  suspect : 

At  some  we  glance,  while  some  are  sealed  in  night. 
The  optician,  by  his  skill, 
Even  now  can  show  at  will 
Long-absent  pheers  in  shapes  of  moving  light : 
If  man  so  much  can  do,  what  cannot  Heaven  effect ! 

Shade,  image,  manes,  all  the  ancient  priest 
Told  to  his  votarists  in  fraud  or  zeal, 
May  be,  and  might  have  been 
By  means  and  arts  we  ween 
No  more  of,  in  this  age  :  for  woe  or  weal 
Of  man,  full   much  foreknown,  to  this   late   race   hath 
ceased. 


ODE    TO    THE    DEPARTED.  I 99 

That  souls  may  take  ambrosial  forms  in  heaven, 
A  dawning  science  half  assures  the  hope  : 
These  forms  may  sleep  and  smile 
Midst  heaven's  fresh  roses,  while 
Their  spirits  free  roam  o'er  this  world's  whole  scope 
For  pleasure  and  for  good,  Heaven's  full  permission  given. 


I  have  not  sung  of  meeting  those  we've  loved 
Or  known,  and  listening  to  their  accents  meek, 
While  pitying  all  they've  pained 
On  earth,  while  passion  reigned, 
To  wreak  redress  upon  themselves  they  seek, 
And  bless,  for  each  stern  deed,  the  pain  they  now  have 
proved. 


I  have  not  sung  of  the  first,  fairest  court 

Of  all  those  mansions  ;  of  the  heavenly  home, 
Of  which  the  best  hath  told 
Who  e'er  trod  earthly  mould  : 
To  courts  of  earthly  kings  the  fairest  come 
Haply  to  show  faint  types  of  this  supreme  resort. 

Haply  the  Sire  of  sires  may  take  a  form, 
And  give  an  audience  to  each  set  unfurled 
With  bands  of  sympathy, 
Wreathen  in  mystery, 

Round  those  who've  known  each  other  in  this  world, 
Perfecting  all  the  rest,  and  breathing  beauty  warm. 


2OO  ODE    TO    THE    DEPARTED. 

Essence,  light,  heat,  form,  throbbing  arteries,  — 
To  deem  each  possible,  enough  I  see  ! 
Edgar,  thou  knowest  I  wait : 
Guard  my  expectant  state  ; 
Console  me,  as  I  bend  in  prayers  for  thee ; 
Aid  me,  even  as  thou  mayest,  both  Heaven  and  thee  to 
please  ! 

This  song  to  thee  alone  !     Though  he  who  shares 
Thy  bed  of  stone  shared  well  my  love  with  thee, 
Yet  in  his  noble  heart 
Another  bore  a  part, 

Whilst  thou  hadst  never  other  love  than  me  : 
Sprites,  brothers,  manes,  shades,  present  my  tears  and 
prayers  ! 


NOTE.  —  Mr.  Griswold  says,  in  his  "Female  Poets  of  America" 
(1853),  that  the  above  peculiar  stanza  was  invented  by  Maria  del 
Occidente. 


FAREWELL  TO   CUBA. 

ADIEU,  fair  isle  !     I  love  thy  bowers  : 
I  love  thy  dark-eyed  daughters  there  ; 

The  cool  pomegranate's  scarlet  flowers 
Look  brighter  in  their  jetty  hair. 

They  praised  my  forehead's  stainless  white, 
And,  when  I  thirsted,  gave  a  draught 

From  the  full  clustering  cocoa's  height, 
And,  smiling,  blessed  me  as  1  quaffed. 

Well  pleased,  the  kind  return  I  gave, 
And,  clasped  in  their  embraces'  twine, 

Felt  the  soft  breeze,  like  Lethe's  wave, 
Becalm  this  beating  heart  of  mine. 

Why  will  my  heart  so  wildly  beat? 

Say,  seraphs,  is  my  lot  too  blest, 
That  thus  a  fitful,  feverish  heat 

Must  rifle  me  of  health  and  rest? 

Alas  !  I  fear  my  native  snows  : 

A  clime  too  cold,  a  heart  too  warm,  — 
Alternate  chills,  alternate  glows,  — 

Too  fiercely  threat  my  flower-like  form. 


2O2  FAREWELL    TO    CUBA. 

The  orange-tree  has  fruit  and  flowers  ; 

The  grenadilla  in  its  bloom 
Hangs  o'er  its  high,  luxuriant  bowers, 

Like  fringes  from  a  Tyrian  loom. 

When  the  white  coffee-blossoms  swell, 
The  fair  moon  full,  the  evening  long, 

I  love  to  hear  the  warbling  bell, 

And  sunburnt  peasant's  wayward  song. 

Drive  gently  on,  dark  muleteer, 
And  the  light  seguidilla  frame  : 

Fain  would  I  listen  still  to  hear 
At  every  close  thy  mistress'  name. 

Adieu,  fair  isle  !  the  waving  palm 
Is  pencilled  on  thy  purest  sky : 

Warm  sleeps  the  bay,  the  air  is  balm, 
And,  soothed  to  languor,  scarce  a  sigh 

Escapes  for  those  I  love  so  well, 

For  those  I've  loved  and  left  so  long  : 

On  me  their  fondest  musings  dwell, 
To  them  alone  my  sighs  belong. 

On,  on,  my  bark  !  blow,  southern  breeze  ! 

No  longer  would  I  lingering  stay  : 
'Twere  better  far  to  die  with  these 

Than  live  in  pleasure  far  away. 

CUBA,  April,  1827. 


NOTES   TO   ZOPHIEL. 


NOTES  TO   CANTO   FIRST. 


GROVE   OF    ACACIAS. 

PAGE  3,  VERSE  i,  LINE  3. 

"  The  selfsame  breeze  that  passes  o'er  thy  breast." 
The   remains   of  Columbus  are  preserved  in  the  cathedral   at 
Havana,  beneath  a  monument  and  bust  of  very  rude  sculpture. 
These  stanzas  were  written  on  the  same  coast,  about  seventy  miles 
distant. 


PAGE  3,  VERSE  2,  LIXE  i. 

"  Madoc,  my  ancient  fathers'  tones  repose 
IVhcre  their  bold  harps  thy  country's  bards  inivreatlicd" 

The  well-known  and  beautiful  poem  of  Dr.  Robert  Southey,  which 
bears  the  name  of  the  Welch  prince  Madoc,  renders  it  unnecessary 
to  give  any  further  account  of  him. 


PAGE  5,  VERSE  4,  LINE  3. 

From  the  cessation  of  oracles  at  the  death  of  the  Founder  of 
our  religion,  the  old  Christian  fathers  inferred  that  the  demons 
who  uttered  them  were  at  that  time  confined. 

205 


2O6  NOTES    TO    CANTO    FIRST. 

PAGE  8,  VERSE  5,  LINE  2. 

Twenty  years,  among  the  Spartans,  was  the  age  required  by  the 
law  for  the  marriage  of  women  ;  and,  in  whatever  climate  they  may 
live,  it  is  seldom  that  they  attain  their  full  height  and  proportion 
before  that  age.  If  this  custom  of  the  Spartans  could  be  every 
where  observed,  it  is  probable  the  strength  and  beauty  of  the  race 
would  be  improved  by  it. 


PAGE  9,  VERSE  3,  LINE  i. 

Some  of  the  acacias  of  the  East  are  endowed  with  a  sensitive 
power,  and  are  said  to  bend  gently  over  those  who  seek  their 
shade. 


PAGE  9,  VERSE  4,  LINE  3. 

"  And  here  the  full  cerulean  passion-_fto~Mcr, 
Climbing  among  the  leaves,  its  mystic  symbols  hung." 

Those  who  have  only  seen  this  flower  as  a  curious  exotic  in 
severer  climates  can  have  little  idea  of  the  profusion  with  which 
it  grows  in  its  native  realms.  It  climbs  from  shrub  to  shrub, 
forming  natural  bowers,  sparkling  with  morning  dew,  and  looking, 
from  its  beamy  shape,  like  a  beautiful  planet. 


PAGE  10,  VERSE  3,  LAST  LINE. 

It  is  impossible  for  those  who  never  felt  it  to  conceive  the  effect 
of  such  a  situation  in  a  warm  climate.  In  this  island,  the  woods, 
which  are  naturally  so  interwoven  with  vines  as  to  be  impervious 
to  a  human  being,  are  in  some  places  cleared  and  converted  into 
nurseries  for  the  young  coffee-trees,  which  remain  sheltered  from 
the  sun  and  wind  till  sufficiently  grown  to  transplant.  To  enter 
one  of  these  "  semilleros,"  as  they  are  here  called,  at  noonday,  pro 
duces  an  effect  like  that  anciently  ascribed  to  the  waters  of  Lethe. 
After  sitting  down  upon  the  trunk  of  a  fallen  cedar  or  palm-tree, 
and  breathing  for  a  moment  the  freshness  of  the  air  and  the  odor 


GROVE    OF    ACACIAS.  2O/ 

of  the  passion-flower,  —  which  is  one  of  the  most  abundant  and  cer 
tainly  the  most  beautiful  of  the  climate,  —  the  noise  of  the  trees, 
which  are  continually  kept  in  motion  by  the  trade-winds ;  the  flut 
tering  and  various  notes  (though  not  musical)  of  the  birds ;  the 
loftiness  of  the  green  canopy  (for  the  trunks  of  the  trees  are  bare 
to  a  great  height,  and  seem  like  pillars  supporting  a  thick  mass  of 
leaves  above) ;  and  the  soft,  peculiar  light  which  the  intense  ray  of 
the  sun,  thus  impeded,  produces,  —  have  altogether  such  an  effect, 
that  one  seems  involuntarily  to  forget  every  thing  but  the  present, 
and  it  requires  a  strong  effort  to  rise  and  leave  the  place. 


PAGE  12,  LAST  VERSE,  LINE  3. 

"  The  palm  is  a  very  common  plant  in  this  country  (Media),  and 
generally  fruitful :  this  they  cultivate  like  fig-trees ;  and  it  produces 
them  bread,  wine,  and  honey."  —  See  Beloe's  notes  to  his  translation 
of  Herodotus.  Mr.  Gibbon  adds  that  the  diligent  natives  celebrated 
either  in  verse  or  prose  three  hundred  and  sixty  uses  to  which  the 
trunk,  the  branches,  the  leaves,  the  juice,  and  the  whole  of  this 
plant,  were  applied.  Nothing  can  be  more  curious  and  interesting 
than  the  natural  history  of  the  palm-tree. 


PAGE  13,  LAST  VERSE,  LINE  i. 

The  women  among  all  the  nations  of  antiquity  were  accustomed 
to  express  violent  grief  by  tearing  their  hair.  This  must  have  been 
a  great  and  affecting  sacrifice  to  the  object  bemoaned,  as  they  con 
sidered  it  a  part  of  themselves,  and  absolutely  essential  to  their 
beauty.  Fine  hair  has  been  a  subject  of  commendation  among  all 
people,  and  particularly  the  ancients.  Cyrus,  when  he  went  to  visit 
his  uncle  Astyagcs,  found  him  with  his  eyelashes  colored,  and  deco 
rated  with  false  locks.  The  first  Cassar  obtained  permission  to  wear 
the  laurel  wreath  in  order  to  conceal  the  bareness  of  his  temples. 
The  quantity  and  beauty  of  the  hair  of  Absalom  are  commemorated 
in  Holy  Writ.  The  modern  Oriental  ladies  also  set  the  greatest 


2O8  NOTES    TO    CANTO    FIRST. 

value  on  their  hair,  which  they  braid  and  perfume.  Thus  the  poet 
Hafiz,  whom  Sir  William  Jones  styles  the  Anacrcon  of  Persia  :  — 

"These  locks,  each  curl  of  which  is  worth  a  hundred  musk-bags 
of  China,  would  be  sweet  indeed  if  their  scent  proceeded  from 
sweetness  of  temper." 

And  again:  "When  the  breeze  shall  waft  the  fragrance  of  thy 
locks  over  the  tomb  of  Hafiz,  a  thousand  flowers  shall  spring  from 
out  the  earth  that  hides  his  corse." 

Achilles  clipped  his  yellow  locks,  and  then  threw  them  as  a  sacri 
fice  upon  the  funeral  pyre  of  Patroclus.  The  women  of  the  abori 
gines  of  America  cut  off  locks  of  their  long  black  hair,  and  strew 
them  upon  the  graves  of  their  husbands. 


PAGE  20,  FIRST  Two  LINKS. 

"  That,  close  inclining  o'er  her,  seemed  to  reck 
What  'twas  they  canopied." 

This  kind  of  acacia,  or  mimosa,  particularly  belongs  to  Abyssinia  : 
it  is  said  to  incline  its  branches,  as  if  sensible,  when  any  one  seeks 
its  shade.  The  Arabians  love  it  as  a  friend.  A  low  species  of 
mimosa,  which  grows  profusely  in  this  island  (Cuba),  is  extremely 
sensitive  :  it  not  only  shuts  its  pretty  leaves  like  a  closed  fan  when 
touched,  but  the  whole  branch  which  supports  them  stoops,  and 
clings  closely  to  the  main  stalk. 

The  affection  of  "  Aswad  "  for  a  mimosa  that  bent  over  him  in 
the  gardens  of  Shcdad  or  Irem  forms  a  particularly  beautiful  pas 
sage  in  "  Thalaba." 


PAGE  20,  VERSE  4,  LAST  LINE. 

Every  one  must  have  observed  this  effect  in  little  children,  who 
for  several  hours  after  they  have  cried  themselves  to  sleep,  and 
sometimes  even  when  a  smile  is  on  their  lips,  are  heard  from  time 
to  time  to  sob. 


GROVE    OF   ACACIAS.  209 

PAGE  21,  LINE  7. 

"  While  friendly  shades  the  sacred  rites  enshroud." 
The  captive  Hebrews,  though    they  sometimes    outwardly  con 
formed  to  the  religion  of    their  oppressors,  were  accustomed  to 
practise  their  own  in  secret. 


PAGE  21,  VERSE  4. 

"  His  heaven-invented  harp  he  still  retained" 

The  invention  of  the  harp  was  ascribed  by  the  Hebraic  historians 
to  Jubal,  who,  as  he  lived  before  the  deluge,  enjoyed,  in  common 
with  others  of  his  race,  the  privilege  of  conversing  with  angels, 
from  whom  he  may  be  supposed  to  have  received  his  art.  That 
Mercury  to  whom  the  Grecians  ascribed  the  invention  of  the  lyre, 
according  to  the  belief  of  the  Christian  fathers,  might  have  been  the 
son  of  a  guilty  angel. 


PAGE  23,  VERSE  5. 

"  Weary  he  fainted  through  the  toilsome  Tiours; 
And  then  his  mystic  nature  he  sustained 
On  steam  of  sacrifices,  breath  of  JJoiuers." 

"  Eusebe,  dans  sa  '  Preparation  Evangelique,' rapporte  quantite 
de  passages  de  Porphyre,  oil  ce  philosophe  payen  assure  que  les 
mauvais  demons  sont  les  auteurs  des  enchantemens,  des  philtres,  et 
des  malefices ;  que  le  mensonge  est  essentiel  a  leur  nature ;  qu'ils 
ne  font  que  tromper  nos  yeux  par  des  spectres  et  par  des  fan- 
tomes;  qu'ils  excitent  en  nous  la  plupart  de  nos  passions;  qu'ils 
ont  1'ambition  dc  vouloir  passer  pour  des  dieux;  que  leurs  corps 
aeriens  se  nourissent  de  fumigations  de  sang  repandu  et  de  la 
graisse  des  sacrifices;  qu'il  n'y  a  qu'eux  qui  se  melent  de  rendre 
des  oracles,  et  a  qui  cette  fonction  pleine  de  tromperie  soit  tombee 
en  partage."  —  FONTENELLE,  Histoire  des  Oracles. 

It  is  related  also,  in  the  "  Caherman  Nameh,"  that  the  Peris  fed 
upon  precious  odors  brought  them  by  their  companions  when  im 
prisoned  and  hung  up  in  cages  by  the  Dives. 


2IO  NOTES    TO    CANTO    FIRST. 

Most  of  the  Oriental  superstitions  harmonize  perfectly  with  the 
belief  of  the  fathers;  and  what  is  there  in  philosophy,  natural 
or  moral,  to  disprove  the  existence  of  beings  similar  to  those  de 
scribed  by  the  latter  ? 

PAGE  23,  VERSE  6. 

"  Sometimes  he  gave  out  oracles." 

This  passage  accords  with  a  belief  prevalent  in  the  earlier  ages 
of  Christianity,  that  all  nations,  except  the  descendants  of  Abraham, 
were  abandoned  by  the  Almighty,  and  subjected  to  the  power  of 
demons  or  evil  spirits.  Fontenelle,  in  his  "  Histoire  des  Oracles," 
makes  the  following  extract  from  the  works  of  the  Pagan  philoso 
pher  Porphyry :  "  Auguste  deja  vieux  et  songeant  a  sc  choisir  un 
successeur  alia  consulter  POracle  de  Delphes.  L'Oracle  ne  repon- 
dait  point,  quoiqu'  Auguste  n'epargnat  pas  des  sacrifices.  A  la  fin, 
cependant,  il  en  tira  cette  reponse.  L'enfant  Hebreu  a  qui  tons 
les  Dieux  obeissent,  me  chasse  d'ici,  et  me  renvoie  dans  les  Enfers. 
Sors  de  ce  temple  sans  parler !  " 


PAGE  23,  LAST  VERSE. 

The  identity  of  Zophiel  with  Apollo  will  be  perceived  in  this 
and  other  passages. 

PAGE  25,  VERSE  i. 

"  Still  true 

To  one  dear  theme,  my  full  soul,  Jlmvingo'  er, 
Would  find  no  room  for  thought  of  what  it  knew, 
Nor,  picturing  forfeit  transport,  curse  me  more." 

"  Si  1'homme  "  (says  a  modern  writer),  "  constant  dans  scs  affec 
tion,  pouvait  sans  cesse  fournir  &  un  sentiment  renouvele  sans 
cesse,  sans  doute  la  solitude  et  1'amour  1'egaleraient  a  Dieu  meme  ; 
car  ce  sont  la  les  deux  eternels  plaisirs  du  grand  Etre." 

St.  Theresa  used  to  describe  the  Prince  of  Darkness  as  an 
unhappy  being  who  never  could  know  what  it  was  to  love. 


GROVE    OF   ACACIAS.  211 

PAGE  26,  VERSE  4,  LINE  i. 

Zophiel,  being  one  of  the  angels  who  fell  before  the  creation 
was  completed,  is  not  supposed  to  know  any  thing  of  the  immor 
tality  of  the  souls  of  men. 


PAGE  28,  VERSE  2,  LINE  3. 

Coclestes,  or  the  Moon,  was  adored  by  many  of  the  Jewish 
women,  as  well  as  the  Carthaginians.  They  addressed  their  vows 
to  her,  burnt  incense,  poured  out  drink-offerings,  and  made  cakes 
for  her  with  her  own  hands.  This  goddess  is  called,  in  Scripture, 
the  Queen  of  Heaven. 


PAGE  31,  VERSE  4,  LINE  4. 

"  Les  Perses  semblent  etre  les  premiers  hommes  connus  de  nous 
qui  parlerent  des  anges  comme  d'huissiers  celestes  et  de  porteurs 
d'ordres."  —  VOLTAIRE,  sur  les  Maurs  et  I1  Esprit  des  Nations. 


PAGE  33,  VERSE  3,  LAST  LINE. 

It  was  not  unusual  among  the  nations  of  the  East  to  imitate 
flowers  with  precious  stones.  The  Persian  kings,  about  the  time 
of  Artaxerxes,  sat,  when  they  gave  audience,  under  a  vine,  the 
leaves  of  which  were  formed  of  gold,  and  the  grapes  of  emeralds. 
Gold  is  supposed  by  some  of  the  Asiatics  to  have  grown  like  a  tree 
in  the  Garden  of  Eden,  and  the  veins  of  ore  found  in  the  earth 
still  correspond  to  the  form  of  branches.  Shedad,  in  the  gardens 
of  his  wonderful  palace,  had  trees  formed  of  gold  and  silver,  with 
fruit  and  blossoms  of  precious  stones.  This  palace,  the  Arabs 
suppose,  still  exists  in  the  desert,  where,  though  generally  in 
visible,  individuals  from  time  to  time  have  been  indulged  with  a 
sight  of  it. 

PAGE  33,  VERSE  4,  LINE  3. 

"  Sister  "  was  an  affectionate  appellation  used  by  the  Hebrews 
to  women. 


212  NOTES    TO    CANTO    FIRST. 

PAGE  34,  VERSE  4. 

"  And  o'er  her  sense,  as  when  the  fond  night-bird 
Wooes  the  full  rose,  o'erpowering  fragrance  stole." 

This  allusion  is  familiar  to  every  one  in  the  slightest  degree 
acquainted  with  Oriental  literature. 

"  The  nightingale,  if  he  sees  the  rose,  becomes  intoxicated :  he 
lets  go  from  his  hands  the  reins  of  prudence."  —  Fable  of  the  Gar 
dener  and  Nightingale. 

Lady  Montagu  also  translates  a  song  thus :  — 

"  The  nightingale  now  hovers  amid  the  flowers. 
His  passion  is  to  seek  roses." 

Again,  from  the  poet  Hafiz :  — 

"  When  the  roses  wither,  and  the  bower  loses  its  sweetness, 
You  have  no  longer  the  tale  of  the  nightingale." 

Indeed,  the  rose,  in  Oriental  poetry,  is  seldom  mentioned  without 
her  paramour,  the  nightingale  ;  which  gives  reason  to  suppose  that 
the  nightingale,  in  those  countries  where  it  was  first  celebrated, 
had  really  some  natural  fondness  for  that  flower,  or  perhaps  for 
some  insect  which  took  shelter  in  it.  In  Sir  W.  Jones's  transla 
tion  of  the  Persian  fable  of  "  The  Gardener  and  Nightingale  "  is 
the  following  distich  :  — 

"  I  know  not  what  the  rose  says  under  his  lips,  that  he  brings 
back  the  helpless  nightingales,  with  their  mournful  notes. 

"  One  day  the  gardener,  according  to  his  established  custom, 
went  to  view  the  roses :  he  saw  a  plaintive  nightingale  rubbing  his 
head  on  the  leaves  of  the  roses,  and  tearing  asunder  with  his  sharp 
bill  that  volume  adorned  with  gold." 

And  Gelaleddin  Ruzbehar:  — 

"  While  the  nightingale  sings  thy  praises  with  a  loud  voice,  I 
am  all  ear,  like  the  stalk  of  the  rose-tree." 

Pliny,  however,  in  his  delightful  description  of  this  bird,  says 
nothing,  I  believe,  about  the  rose. 

CUBA,  CAPITAL  SAN  PATRICIO,  April,  1823. 


NOTES  TO   CANTO   SECOND. 


DEATH  OF  ALTHEETOR.1 

PAGE  40,  LINE  2. 

Chess  was  known  at  an  early  period.  Queen  Parysatis  played 
with  Artaxerxes,  her  son,  for  the  life  of  a  person  whom  she  wished 
to  destroy.  Sir  William  Jones's  article  on  the  ancient  game  of 
Chaturanga,  or  Indian  chess,  is  well  known. 


PAGE  41,  VERSE  4,  LINE  4. 

Couches  of  gold  and  silver  were  not  uncommon  among  the  Me 
dian  and  Persian  princes. 


PAGE  41,  VERSE  4,  LINE  4. 

The  white  and  yellow  jessamine  is  now  found  growing  in  abun 
dance  about  Mount  Casius,  intermixed  with  laurels,  myrtles,  and 
other  delightful  shrubs. 

1  This  name  is  formed  of  the  two  Greek  Words  Aleihes  and  Ctof. 

213 


214  NOTES    TO    CANTO    SECOND. 

PAGE  41,  LAST  VERSE,  LAST  LINE. 

"  In  every  full,  deep  flmver  that  crowned  his  paradise" 
The  Medes  and  Persians  were  accustomed  to  retire  to  delicious 
gardens,  which  were  called  paradises. 

Josephus,  speaking  of  a  powerful  Babylonian  king,  says,  "He 
erected  elevated  places,  for  walking,  of  stone,  and  made  them 
resemble  mountains;  and  built  them  so  that  they  might  be  planted 
with  all  sorts  of  trees.  He  also  erected  what  was  called  a  pensile 
paradise,  because  his  wife  was  desirous  to  have  things  like  her  own 
country,  she  having  been  bred  up  in  the  palaces  of  Media." 

The  same  custom  is  still  continued  in  the  East,  where  people  of 
distinction  pass  their  most  pleasant  hours  in  the  pavilions  or  kiosks 
of  their  gardens. 


PAGE  44,  LINE  5. 
Sardius  is  the  name  of  a  precious  stone. 


PAGE  44,  VERSE  5,  LAST  LINE. 

"  A nd  to  his  manes  let  »«;•  life-blood  Jlow  !  " 

Egla  might  have  heard  of  the  gods'  manes  from  some  wandering 
Ionian.  The  Greeks  attributed  four  distinct  parts  to  man,  —  the 
body,  which  is  resolved  to  dust ;  the  soul,  which,  as  they  imagined, 
passed  to  Tartarus  or  the  Elysian  Fields,  according  to  its  merits ; 
the  image,  which  inhabited  the  infernal  vestibule ;  and  the  shade, 
which  wandered  about  the  sepulchre.  This  last  they  were  accus 
tomed  to  invoke  three  times ;  and  libations  were  poured  out  to  this 
as  well  as  to  the  gods'  manes,  who  were  the  genii  of  the  dead,  and 
had  the  care  of  their  sepulchres  and  wandering  shades.  —  See  Trav 
els  of  Antenor. 

The  Jews,  besides,  at  the  time  this  scene  is  supposed  to  have 
transpired,  began  to  be  imbued  with  the  Chaldaic  superstitions  or 
belief.  "  The  modern  Jews,"  says  Father  Augustin  Calmet,  "  hojd 
the  souls  of  men  to  be  spiritual  and  immortal,  but  that  they  some- 


DEATH    OF    ALTIIEETOR.  215 

times  appear  again,  as  well  as  good  and  evil  demons;  that  the 
souls  of  the  Hebrews  are  never  visible  either  in  hell  or  paradise, 
except  their  bodies  are  buried ;  that,  even  after  they  are  buried,  the 
soul  makes  frequent  excursions  from  its  destined  residence  to  visit 
its  former  body,  and  inquire  into  its  condition  ;  that  it  wanders 
about  for  a  full  year  after  its  first  separation  from  the  body ;  and 
that  it  was  before  the  expiration  of  this  year  that  the  witch  of 
Enclor  called  up  the  soul  of  Samuel." 

Origen  and  Theophylact  say  also  that  the  Jews  and  Heathens  be 
lieved  the  soul  to  continue  near  the  body  for  some  time  after  the 
death  of  the  person.  —  Calmct. 

Origen,  in  his  second  book  against  Celsus  (continues  the  Rever 
end  Father  Dom  Augustin  Calmet),  relates  and  subscribes  to  the 
opinion  of  Plato,  who  says  "  that  the  shadows  and  images  of  the 
dead,  which  are  seen  near  sepulchres,  are  nothing  but  the  soul 
disengaged  from  its  gross  body,  but  not  yet  entirely  freed  from 
matter."  From  the  same  old  book,  which  is  probably  read  by  few, 
I  cannot  forbear  transcribing  the  following  curious  account,  which, 
however  impossible,  appears  to  have  been  at  one  time  generally 
believed  :  — 

"  If  there  is  any  truth  in  what  we  are  told  by  the  learned  Digby, 
chancellor  to  Henrietta,  Queen  of  England,  by  Father  Kircher,  a 
celebrated  Jesuit,  by  Father  Schott  of  the  same  order,  and  by  Gaf- 
ferell  and  Vallcmont,  concerning  the  wonderful  mystery  of  the 
Palingenesis,  or  resurrection  of  plants,  it  will  help  to  account  for 
the  shades  and  phantoms  which  many  will  confidently  assert  they 
have  seen  in  churchyards." 

The  account  which  these  curious  naturalists  give  of  their  per 
forming  the  wonderful  operation  of  the  Palingenesis  is  as  follows  :  — 

"  They  take  a  flower,  and  burn  it  to  ashes,  from  which,  being 
collected  with  great  care,  they  extract  all  the  salts  by  calcination. 
These  salts  they  put  into  a  glass  phial ;  and,  having  added  to  them 
a  certain  composition  which  has  a  property  of  putting  the  ashes  in 
motion  upon  the  application  of  heat,  the  whole  becomes  a  fine  dust 
of  a  bluish  color.  P'rom  this  dust,  when  agitated  by  a  gentle  heat, 
there  arise  gradually  a  stalk,  leaves,  and  then  a  flower;  in  short, 


2l6  NOTES    TO    CANTO    SECOND. 

there  is  seen  the  apparition  of  a  plant  rising  out  of  the  ashes. 
When  the  heat  ceases  the  whole  show  disappears,  and  the  dust  falls 
into  its  former  chaos  at  the  bottom  of  the  vessel.  The  return  of 
heat  always  raises  out  of  its  ashes  this  vegetable  phoenix,  which 
derives  its  life  from  the  presence  of  this  genial  warmth,  and  dies  as 
soon  as  it  is  withdrawn." 

Then  follows  the  manner  in  which  Father  Kircher  endeavors  to 
account  for  the  wonderful  phenomenon ;  and  the  author  continues 
with  an  assertion  that  the  members  of  the  Royal  Society  at  London 
had  (as  he  was  informed)  made  the  same  experiment  upon  a  spar 
row,  and  were  then  hoping  to  make  it  succeed  upon  men. 


PAGE  46,  VERSE  5. 

The  Medes,  as  well  as  the  Persians,  were  expert  with  the  bow  and 
javelin. 

PAGE  49,  VERSE  4. 

"  Yet  'sucli  things  are.'" 

In  the  whole  catalogue  of  all  the  crimes  and  cruelties  ever  re 
corded  since  the  invention  of  letters,  there  is  nothing  so  horrid  to 
the  imagination  as  the  simple  fact  of  the  existence  of  desire  in  the 
immediate  presence  of  death  and  carnage.  Peter  the  Great,  Czar 
of  Muscovy,  killed  several  of  his  soldiers  with  his  own  hand,  at  the 
taking  of  Narva,  to  prevent  the  same  atrocity  related  of  Philomars 
in  the  text. 

"Jornandes  reconte  "  (says  M.  de  Chateaubriand),  "  que  dcs 
sorcieres  chassees  loin  des  habitations  des  hommes  dans  les  deserts 
de  la  Scythie,  furent  visitees  par  des  demons,  et  de  ce  commerce 
sortirent  la  nation  des  Huns."  Deeds  are  still  done  which  might 
well  serve  to  prove  a  similar  origin. 


PAGE  50,  VERSE  3,  LAST  LINE. 
When  the  Persians  celebrate  their  feast  of  roses. 


DEATH    OF    ALTHEiiTOR.  2 1/ 

PAGE  50,  VERSE  4. 

"  And  snow-white  Egla,  mild  and  chaste  and  fair, 
Came  o  'er  his  fancy." 

The  love  of  Sardius  for  Egla  resembles  that  of  Cyrus  for  Aspasia 
or  Milto,  of  whom  the  Chevalier  cle  Lender  gives  the  following 
account :  "  Aspasia,  being  brought  to  Sardis  by  one  of  the  satraps 
of  Cyrus,  was  compelled  to  come  into  the  presence  of  that  prince 
with  many  other  women.  While  the  rest  by  every  art  endeavored 
to  attract  his  attention,  Milto  stood  at  a  distance,  with  her  eyes  fixed 
upon  the  earth  ;  and  Cyrus  was  so  charmed  with  the  singularity  of 
her  modesty  (or,  more  probably,  of  her  beauty),  that  he  dismissed 
all  beside,  and  remained  a  long  time  attached  to  this  favorite." 


PAGE  52,  VERSE  i,  LAST  LINE. 

Many  of  the  young  men  of  Asia,  and  even  those  of  Athens,  used 
the  same  arts  at  their  toilets  as  the  women. 


PAGE  52,  VERSE  3. 

"  With  black 

To  tip  the  eyelid;  stain  the  finger;  deck 
The  check  with  hues  that  languor  bids  it  lack" 

The  arts  practised  by  women  to  heighten  their  beauty  were  sup 
posed  to  have  been  taught  them  by  fallen  angels. 

"  Dans  le  livre  de  la  parure  des  femmes,  chap.  2,  Tertullien  ex- 
plique,  plus  au  long,  pourquoi  le  demon  et  ses  mauvais  anges 
apprirent,  autrefois,  aux  femmes  1'art  de  se  farder  et  les  inoyens 
d'cmbellir  leurs  corps.  Us  volurent,  sans  doute,  dit  il,  les  recom- 
penser  des  faveurs  qu'elles  leurs  avaient  accordes :  Tertullien 
suppose  done  qu'il  y  avait  eu  un  mauvais  commerce  entre  les  mau 
vais  anges  et  les  femmes. 

"Ce  paradox  n'est  pas  particulier  a  Tertullien,  que  plusieurs 
autres  peres  de  PEglise  devant  et  apres  lui  ne  1'aient  pas  avance. 

"  Mais  cette  erreur  a  etc  solidement  refutee  par  St.  Chrisostome, 
St.  Augustin,  St.  Epiphane,  etc. 


2l8          NOTES  TO  CANTO  SECOND. 

"  A  1'occasion  de  cet  etrange  commerce,  notre  auteur  fait  une 
reflection  qui  passe  les  bornes  de  la  raillerie.  Les  demons,  dit  il, 
sont  venus  trouvcr  les  filles  des  hommes  :  tout  demons  qu'ils  sont,  ils 
en  out  etc  favorablement  re9u;  il  ne  manquait  que  cette  ignominie 
aux  femmes,  ut  haec  ignominia  foeminae  accedat.  Nam  cum  et 
materias  quasdam  bene  occultas  et  artes  plurasque  non  bene  reve- 
latas,  seculo,  multo  magis  imperito  prodidissent  (siquidem  et  metal- 
lorum  opera  nudaverant  et  herbarum  ingenia  traduxerant  et 
incantationum  vires  promulgaverant  et  omnem  curiositatem  usque 
ad  stellarum  interpretationem  designaverant)  proprie  et  quasi  pesunt 
ariter  fceminis  instrumentum  istud  muliebris  glorine  contulerunt ; 
lumina  lapillorum,  quibus  brachia  arctantur ;  et  meclicamenta  ex 
fuco,  quibus  lanae  colorantur  et  ilium  ipsum  nigrem  pulverem,  quo 
oculorum  exordia  producantur." 

The  above  extract  is  from  a  French  translation,  or  rather  com 
pendium,  of  Tertullian,  which  was  sent  me  by  M.  Van  I'raet 
from  the  Bibliotheque  du  Roi  at  Paris.  But,  as  many  of  the  most 
curious  passages  were  entirely  omitted,  the  same  gentleman  was  so 
obliging  as  to  look  for  the  Latin  folio  containing  that  very  amusing 
article  of  Tertullian  entitled  "  De  Habitu  Muliebri;"  from  which  I 
had  intended  to  have  given  in  this  note  a  longer  extract,  written  out 
for  me  by  Baron  Joseph  de  Palm,  from  whose  very  beautiful  Ger 
man  verses  two  inadequate  translations  will  appear  in  this  volume. 
The  extract,  however,  was  accidentally  left  at  Paris ;  and,  Zophicl 
being  reviewed  and  arranged  for  the  last  time  at  Keswick  (Eng 
land),  I  fear  it  may  not  reach  me  soon  enough  to  be  inserted. 


PAGE  52,  VERSE  4. 

"  With  wreaths  of  gems,  or  made  or  found  by  him, 
Or  his  enamoured  brothers,  when  they  bore 
Lm>e  fur  the  like." 

This  passage,  like  the  preceding  one,  is  simply  in  pursuance  of 
the  belief  of  Tertullian,  tfiat  the  custom  of  arraying  themselves 
with  gold  and  gems  was  first  taught  to  beautiful  women  by  their 
angel  lovers,  who  understood  chemistry,  and  imparted  to  them, 


DEATH    OF    ALTHEETOR.  2IQ 

among  other  ornamental  arts,  that  of  preparing  colors  for  dyeing 
their  garments,  and  heightening  the  beauty  of  their  complexions. 
But  the  sage  Comte  de  Gabalis  says  that  gnomes  are  the  guardians 
of  minerals  and  precious  stones.  I  know  not  what  origin  he  as 
cribes  to  his  "peuples  des  elemens;  "  but  he  expressly  affirms  that 
no  sylph  or  sylphide,  gnome  or  gnomide,  can  be  immortal  unless 
united  with  a  son  or  daughter  of  earth.  Those  who  have  any 
curiosity  to  know  more  must,  I  suppose,  consult  those  learned 
authors  whom  he  names  in  the  following  passage  :  — 

"  En  croyez  vous,  dit  il,  plus  a  votre  nourice  qu'a  la  raison  natu- 
relle  qu'a  Platon,  Pythagore,  Celse,  Psellus,  Procle,  Porphyre,  Plo- 
tin,  Trismegiste,  Nolius,  Dornee,  Fludd ;  qu'au  grand  Philippe 
Aureole  Theophraste  Bombast  Paracelse  de  Hohenheim,  et  qu'a 
tous  nos  compagnons  ?  " 

After  describing  the  people  of  earth,  air,  fire,  and  water,  the 
sage  continues :  "  II  y  avait  beaucoup  de  proportion  entre  Adam  et 
ces  creatures  si  parfaites ;  parce  qu'etant  compose  de  ce  qu'il  y 
avait  de  plus  pur  dans  les  quatre  elemens  il  renfermait  les  perfec 
tions  de  ces  quatre  especes  de  peuples,  et  etait  leur  roi  naturel. 
Mais  des-lors  que  son  peche  1'eut  precipite  dans  les  particles  les 
plus  viles  des  elemens,  comme  vous  verrez  quelquefois,  1'harmonie 
fut  deconcertee,  et  il  (Adam)  n'eiit  plus  de  proportion,  etant  impur 
et  grosier  avec  ces  substances  si  purs  et  si  subtiles." 


PAGE  54,  VERSE  3,  LAST  LINE. 

"  Slight  bandelets  ivcrc  twined  cf 'colors  five." 

There  is  a  German  work  by  Ilartmann  on  the  toilet  of  Hebrew 
women,  which  those  who  are  curious  on  the  subject  may  do  well  to 
consult. 

The  father  Calmet  has  also  written  a  dissertation  on  the  dress  of 
the  ancient  Hebrews,  which  the  French  translator  of  Tcrtullian 
says,  "  ne  prouve  pas  clairement  sa  proposition."  M.  de  Chateau 
briand  introduces  his  Cymodoce'e  (when  arrayed  for  a  religious 
ceremony,  after  her  conversion  to  Christianity)  in  the  same  cos 
tume  chosen  by  Egla  for  the  banquet  of  Sardius. 


22O  NOTES    TO    CANTO    SECOND. 

PAGE  55,  VERSE  3. 

This  description  is  from  the  life,  and  does  not  exceed  in  any 
particular  \\\z  face  of  a  Canadian  lady  of  Swiss  descent.  She  was 
called  by  the  peasants  of  her  neighborhood  "  1'ange  des  bois." 


PAGE  59,  VERSE  2,  LINE  i. 

It  is  said  by  Pliny  that  Appion  raised  up  the  soul  of  Homer  in 
order  to  learn  from  him  his  country  and  his  parents,  and  Apol- 
lonius  Tyanaeus  is  said  to  have  raised  the  manes  of  Achilles. 


PAGE  59,  VERSE  4. 

"  And  oft  his  mother,  vain  in  her  delight, 
Boasted  she  owed  him  to  a  god's  embrace" 

The  Christian  fathers  did  not  in  the  least  doubt  that  many  of  the 
heroes  of  antiquity  were  really  so  produced.  They,  however,  sup 
posed  that  their  fathers  were  some  of  the  banished  angels,  who 
assumed  at  pleasure  the  forms  of  those  gods  under  whose  names 
they  caused  themselves  to  be  adored. 


PAGE  61,  VERSE  4. 

"  Not  Eva,  lovelier  than  tlie  tints  of  air." 

The  beauty  which  the  antediluvian  women  must  have  possessed, 
in  order  to  be  such  a  temptation  to  angels  as  the  Christian  fathers 
supposed  them  to  have  been,  agrees  with  the  account  of  "  Rabadan 
the  Morisco,"  whose  poem  is  said  by  Dr.  Southey  to  contain  "  the 
fullest  Mohammedan  Genesis." 

The  Creator,  having  formed  the  earth,  and  adjusted  his  plan  of 
procedure,  summoned  his  angels,  and  requested  that  one  of  them 
might  descend,  and  bring  him  soil  or  clay  wherewith  to  make  a 
man;  but  the  angels  unanimously  expressed  a  reluctance  to  what 
they  could  but  consider  a  loathsome  and  debasing  office.  Azarael, 


DEATH    OF    ALTHEETOR.  221 

however,  an  angel  of  extraordinary  stature,  flew  down,  and  col 
lected  the  material  required  from  the  north,  east,  south,  and  west 
of  the  new-made  earth.  "  Azarael,"  said  the  Creator,  "  thou 
shalt,  in  reward  of  thine  obedience,  be  him  who  scparateth  the 
souls  from  the  bodies  of  the  creatures  I  am  about  to  make :  hence 
forth  be  called  Azarael  Malec  el  Mout,  or  Azarael  the  Angel  of 
Death." 

The  Creator  then  caused  the  earth  which  Azarael  had  brought 
to  be  washed  and  purified  in  the  fountains  of  heaven,  till  it  became 
so  resplendently  clear,  that  it  cast  a  more  shining  and  beautiful 
light  than  the  sun  in  its  utmost  glory.  Gabriel  was  then  command 
ed  to  carry  this  lovely  though  as  yet  inanimate  statue  of  clay 
throughout  the  heavens,  the  earth,  the  centres,  and  the  seas. 

When  the  angels  saw  so  beautiful  an  image,  they  said,  "  Lord, 
if  it  be  pleasing  in  thy  sight,  we  will,  in  thy  most  high  and  mighty 
name,  prostrate  ourselves  before  it."  This  proposal  meeting  the 
approbation  of  the  Creator,  the  angels  all  bowed,  inclining  their 
celestial  countenances  at  the  feet  of  the  inanimate  Adam. 

Eblis,  or  Lucifer,  was  the  only  one  who  refused,  proudly  valuing 
himself  upon  his  heavenly  composition :  whereupon  the  Creator 
said  to  him,  with  extreme  sternness,  "  Prostrate  thyself  to  Adam." 
He  made  a  show  of  doing  so,  but  remained  upon  his  knees,  and 
then  rose  up  before  he  had  performed  what  God  had  commanded 
him. 

The  other  angels,  seeing  him  so  refractory,  prostrated  them 
selves  a  second  time  in  order  to  complete  what  he  had  left  undone. 
For  this  reason  the  Mohammedans,  in  all  their  prayers,  at  each 
inclination  of  the  body,  make  two  prostrations,  one  immediately 
after  the  other.  —  See  Rabadan. 


PAGE  61,  VERSE  4,  LINE  3. 

"  That  form,  all  panting' neath  her  yellow  hair." 
Milton  has   described   the   hair   of    the   first  woman   as    of    a 
yellow  or  golden  tint.     This  color  appears  to  have  been  admired 
from  the  most  remote  antiquity.     Indeed,  when  fine  eyes,  and  sym- 


222         NOTES  TO  CANTO  SECOND. 

metry  of  outline,  are  united  with  a  white,  transparent  skin,  and  hair 
of  this  color  in  profusion,  the  form  so  constructed  and  adorned 
seems  more  than  mortal.  Persons  of  this  complexion  are  generally 
of  tender,  voluptuous  dispositions,  and  not  naturally  addicted  to 
the  passions  of  hatred  and  revenge.  Such,  however,  are  extremely 
rare,  and,  unless  by  the  race  of  artists,  seem,  at  present,  less  ap 
preciated  than  beauties  of  a  darker  shade.  Black  hair  and  eyes 
embellish  very  much  a  common  face  and  person;  and,  could  one 
look  entirely  over  the  world,  the  aggregate  of  comeliness  would 
perhaps  be  found  greater  among  the  dark  than  among  the  fair 
haired  nations. 

The  Athenian  ladies,  so  late  as  the  time  of  Alcibiades,  wore  a 
yellow  powder  in  their  hair  to  give  it  the  appearance  of  gold. 

Josephus  writes  that  King  Solomon  caused  many  of  the  finest 
horses  of  those  presented  him  by  neighboring  princes  to  be  rid 
den  by  young  men,  chosen  at  the  most  beautiful  period  of  their 
lives,  and  remarkable  for  stature,  and  symmetry  of  person.  These, 
dressed  in  the  rich  colors  of  Tyre,  wore  their  hair  long,  and 
sprinkled  with  golden  dust.  This  king,  so  renowned  for  his  wis 
dom,  deserves  to  be  still  more  so  for  his  taste.  The  murder  of  his 
brother,  as  related  by  Josephus,  however,  though  so  little  men 
tioned,  is  a  very  dark  blot  on  his  character.  Pleasure  is  too  gener 
ally  selfish  and  cruel. 


PAGE  63,  VERSE  i. 

"  And  round  his  neck  an  amulet  he  ivore 
Of  many  a  gem  in  mystic  mazes  tied." 

Men  of  all  countries  and  ages  have  put  faith  in  these  talismans. 
The  Egyptians  have  left  a  great  number  :  they  wore  them  on  the 
neck,  in  the  form  of  little  cylinders,  ornamented  with  figures  and 
hieroglyphics. 

"  Les  Grecs  faisaient  aussi  un  grand  usage  des  amulcttcs ;  ils 
attribuerent  des  proprietes  surnaturelles  au  laurier,  au  saule,  atix 
arbrisseaux  epineux,  au  jaspe,  a  presque  toutes  les  pierres  pre- 
cieuses." —  Voyages  d^Antcnor. 


DEATH    OF    ALTHEETOR.  223 

"  The  Arabs,"  says  Shaw,  "  hang  about  their  children's  necks 
the  figure  of  an  open  hand,  which  the  Turks  and  Moors  paint  upon 
their  ships  and  houses,  as  an  antidote  and  counter-charm  to  an  evil 
eye.  Those  who  are  grown  up  still  carry  about  with  them  some 
paragraph  or  other  of  their  Koran,  which,  as  the  Jews  did  their 
phylacteries,  they  place  upon  their  breast,  or  sew  under  their  caps, 
to  prevent  fascination  and  witchcraft,  and  to  secure  themselves 
from  sickness  and  misfortune.  The  virtue  of  these  charms  and 
scrolls  is  supposed  likewise  to  be  so  far  universal,  that  they  sus 
pend  them  upon  the  necks  of  their  cattle,  horses,  and  other  beasts 
of  burden." 

The  most  wonderful  properties  were  ascribed  to  precious  stones : 
some  detected  the  presence  of  poison ;  others  made  ineffectual  the 
power  of  evil  spirits  and  magicians. 

"  Giafar,  the  founder  of  the  Barmecides,  being  obliged  to  fly 
from  Persia,  his  native  country,  took  refuge  at  Damascus,  and 
implored  the  protection  of  the  caliph  Soliman.  When  he  was 
presented  to  that  prince,  the  caliph  suddenly  changed  color,  and 
commanded  him  to  retire,  suspecting  he  had  poison  about  him. 
Soliman  had  discovered  it  by  means  of  ten  stones  which  he  wore 
upon  his  arm.  They  were  fastened  there  like  a  bracelet,  and  never 
failed  to  strike  against  each  other,  and  make  a  slight  noise,  when 
any  poison  was  near.  Upon  inquiry,  it  was  found  that  Giafar 
carried  poison  in  his  ring,  for  the  purpose  of  self-destruction  in 
case  he  had  been  taken  by  his  enemies."  —  Marigny. 

Sir  Walter  Scott  avails  himself  very  beautifully  of  that  power  of 
detecting  poison  attributed  to  the  opal. 

Belief  in  the  efficacy  of  amulets  is  too  pleasing  to  be  easily  laid 
aside ;  and  probably  will,  in  some  degree,  exist  as  long  as  the  pain 
of  fear  or  the  pleasure  of  security.  I  was  shown  last  evening,  in 
company  with  a  young  Greek  of  Athens,  an  amulet  which  had 
belonged  to  his  deceased  companion.  It  was  a  little  square  case 
of  silver,  suspended  from  a  chain,  in  order  to  be  worn  about  the 
neck  in  the  manner  of  a  miniature.  On  the  outside  were  three 
small  figures  in  relief,  —  the  Saviour,  Mary,  and  Martha ;  and  the 
case  contained  a  thin  slip  of  light-colored  wood,  about  an  inch  in 


224         NOTES  TO  CANTO  SECOND. 

breadth,  and  an  inch  and  a  half  in  length,  delicately  carved,  and 
representing  a  figure  on  horseback.  This  wood  was  supposed,  by 
its  former  possessor,  to  be  a  fragment  of  the  real  cross.  The 
Greek  youth  in  whose  presence  it  was  shown  has  been  educated  by 
a  gentleman  of  the  south  of  England,  and  now  living  at  the  foot  of 
Skiddaw  with  his  enchanting  lady.  The  protectors  are  all  gener 
osity,  the  youth  all  gratitude  ;  and  nothing  can  be  more  interesting 
than  their  family  circle.  The  latter  recollected  some  of  the  airs  of 
his  native  country,  which  were  wild  and  sweet,  and,  accompanied 
by  the  piano-forte,  had  a  fine  effect  ;  and  it  was  difficult  to  forbear 
thinking  of  those  lyres  which  once  might  possibly  have  thrilled 
to  them. 
KESWICK,  April  19,  1831. 


PAGE  66,  VERSE  2,  LAST  LINE. 

"  By  magic  skill,  some  philtre  •with  his  wine." 

The  ancients  were  much  addicted  to  this  practice,  and  sometimes 
died  in  consequence  of  mixtures  secretly  thrown  into  their  drink  or 
food  for  the  purpose  of  securing  their  love  for  particular  persons. 
A  pretty  incident  of  the  kind  is  introduced  into  that  very  enter 
taining  work,  "  Les  Voyages  d' Anterior."  According  to  Josephus, 
the  immediate  cause  of  the  execution  of  Mariamne  was  Herod's 
fear  of  such  experiments.  Sending  for  this  queen  in  a  violent  fit 
of  fondness,  he  met  nothing  but  coldness  and  reproaches  in  return ; 
and,  while  stung  to  the  soul  at  her  behavior,  his  mother  and  sister 
took  the  opportunity  to  inform  him  that  Mariamne  had  prepared 
for  him  a  love-potion. 

PAGE  66,  VERSE  3,  LINE  i. 

"  Or  there  's  in  her  blue  eye  some  wicked  light" 

The  fear  of  hurtful  influences  emanating  from  the  eyes  of  persons 
suspected  of  magic  was  common  to  most  nations  of  antiquity,  and 
perhaps  is  not  yet  entirely  laid  aside  in  some  parts  of  Europe. 

"  Les  Thessaliens,  les  Illyriens,  et  les  Triballes,  etaient  celebre 


DEATH    OF    ALTHEETOR.  22$ 

par    leurs    enchantemens.      Les  clerniers,  selon   Pline,  pouvaient 
faire  perir  des  animaux  et  des  enfans  par  leurs  seule  regards. 

"  Les  anciens  craignaient  les  regards  des  envieux  autant  pour 
cux-memes  que  pour  leurs  enfans  ;  c'est  pourquoi  ils  attachaient 
les  memes  amulettes  au  cou  de  leurs  enfans  :  ils  en  mettaient  aux 
jambes  des  portes,  de  maniere  qu'en  les  ouvrant  on  agitait  ces 
phallus,  et  on  ebranlait  les  clochettes." —  Voyages  d'Antenor. 


PAGE  68,  VERSE  2,  LAST  LINE. 

"  A  >ui  twines  her  long  hair  round  him  as  he  sings." 
This  act  was  often  resorted  to  as  the  most  forcible  manner  of 
imploring  protection.  When  the  young  prince  Cyrus  was  brought 
before  his  brother  Artaxerxes,  whose  throne  he  had  attempted  to 
usurp,  Parysates,  his  mother,  intwined  him  with  her  hair,  and  by 
tears  and  entreaties  succeeded  in  saving  him  from  death. 


PAGE  70,  VERSE  4. 

"  He  died  of  love,  —  of  the  oer-perfcctjoy 
Of  being  pitied,  prayed  for,  prest  by  thee!" 

Zimmermann,  in  his  admired  work  on  Solitude,  gives  an  instance 
of  two  Italian  lovers,  who,  after  having  been  separated,  sprang 
into  each  other's  embrace,  and  both  died  immediately.  Joy  is 
seldom  perfect  enough  to  kill ;  but,  could  it  exist  as  free  from  the 
alloy  of  any  other  sensation  as  grief  is  sometimes  felt,  it  would 
probably  destroy  life  much  sooner,  from  the  circumstance  of  mortal 
nerves  being  far  less  accustomed  to  it.  "  Many,"  said  Dr.  Gold 
smith,  "die  of  grief;  but  who  was  ever  known  to  die  of  joy?" 
Instances  of  the  latter,  though  rare,  are  sometimes  found. 

I  was  told  by  a  lady,  whose  word  there  was  not  the  least  reason 
to  doubt,  of  a  person  she  had  known  who  was  passionately  fond  of 
music.  She  had  heard  him  say,  while  listening  to  a  concert  of 
sacred  compositions,  "  I  shall  certainly  die  if  I  hear  many  more 
of  these  strains."  A  few  years  afterwards,  the  same  person  actu- 


226         NOTES  TO  CANTO  SECOND. 

ally  fell  dead  while  assisting  at  a  concert.  This  happened  in  a 
country  where  education  and  every  custom  tend  rather  to  the 
annihilation  than  the  culture  of  any  deep  or  violent  emotion. 


PAGE  72,  VERSE  2,  LAST  LINE. 

"  But  gained  a  bliss  frail  nature  could  not  bear" 
Excessive  joy,  by  preventing  sleep  (as  it  invariably  does  in  a 
person  capable  of  feeling  it  at  all),  very  soon  procures  for  itself  a 
mitigation  proceeding  from  corporeal  uneasiness  :  were  this  not  the 
case,  it  would  soon  terminate  in  death  or  madness,  even  though 
not  felt  in  a  very  unusual  degree. 

Past  joy  is  a  thing  so  pleasant  to  speak  upon,  that  raptures  are 
generally  exaggerated  in  the  telling.  When  really  intense,  as  they 
are  sometimes  described,  their  power  to  produce  death  can  scarcely 
be  doubted.  Every  one  has  heard  of  Chilo's  death  in  the  arms  of 
his  son,  who  returned  victorious  from  the  Olympic  games. 


PAGE  72,  VERSES  4  AND  5. 

"  It  is  whispered  that  the  Unqucllcd  desires 
Another  Spirit  for  each  forfeit  seat 
Left  vacant  by  our  fall." 

It  was  an  idea  generally  entertained  by  the  fathers,  that  the 
many  vacancies  caused  by  the  different  orders  of  angels  who  fell 
through  love  or  ambition  were  to  be  filled  up  by  souls  selected 
from  the  human  species.  Another  opinion  afterwards  arose,  and 
was  favored  by  one  or  more  of  the  popes,  "  that  it  was  only  the 
tenth  order  of  the  celestial  hierarchy  which  supplied  angels,  who, 
by  falling,  assimilated  themselves  to  the  inhabitants  of  earth  ;  and 
that  it  is  only  to  supply  the  deficiencies  of  that  grade  that  the  best 
of  mortals  will  be  promoted."  Much  interesting  speculation  on 
this  subject  may  be  found  in  the  works  of  Dionysius,  to  which  I 
had  free  access  while  at  Paris,  but  no  time  to  make  extracts  or 
translations. 


DEATH    OF    ALTHEETOK. 


PAGE  74,  VERSES  3  AND  4. 

The  Assyrians,  Persians,  and  Medians  are  said  not  to  have 
burned  their  dead;  but  the  mother  of  Altheetor  was  an  Ionian,  — 
the  only  reason  that  can  be  assigned  for  Zophiel's  supposing  he 
would  be  burnt  after  the  Grecian  manner. 


PAGE  74,  VERSE  5. 

"  O  my  loved  Hyacinth  !  "when  as  a  god 
I  hurled  the  disk,  and  from  thy  hapless  head 
The  pure  sweet  blood  made  flowers  upon  the  sod." 

This,  and  other  passages  which  serve  to  identify  Zophiel  with 
Apollo,  are  perfectly  conformable  to  a  belief  once  acknowledged 
by  every  Christian. 

An  able  writer  in  "The  North-American  Review  "  (in  an  article 
entitled  "  Ancient  and  Modern  Poetry,"  which  appeared  some  time 
between  the  years  twenty-one  and  four)  appears  to  have  read  a 
great  deal  on  the  subject.  The  following  is  not  irrelative  :  "  Some 
evil  spirits  or  fallen  angels,  whom  the  fathers  had  cast  out,  were 
compelled  by  the  fire  of  exorcism  to  confess  that  they  were  the 
same  who  had  inspired  the  heathen  poets ;  and  these,  with  all  the 
duties  of  'gay  religions  full  of  pomp  and  gold,'  were  confined  to 
the  doom  of  that  infernal  host  described  by  Milton.  So  far  were 
the  Christians  from  denying  the  existence  of  any  of  the  beings  of 
Pagan  mythology,  that  they  continually  urged,  as  an  argument  in 
favor  of  the  superiority  and  divinity  of  their  faith,  the  power  which 
it  gave  over  them;  and  Eunapius  (see  Eunapius'  life  of  Porphyry 
in  his  Vitas  Philosophorum)  very  gravely  mentions  the  story  of 
Porphyry's  expelling  a  demon." 

M.  de  Eontenelle  wrote  his  "  Histoire  cfes  Oracles  "  expressly  to 
prove  that  heathen  temples  were  not  inhabited  by  demons  or  fallen 
angels.  In  that  work  is  found  the  following  oracle,  extracted  from 
the  writings  of  Eusebius  :  "  Unhappy  priest,"  said  Apollo  to  one  of 
his  ministers,  "ask  me  no  more  concerning  the  Divine  Father,  nor 
of  his  only  Son,  nor  of  that  Spirit  which  is  the  soul  of  all  things : 
it  is  that  Spirit  which  expels  me  forever  from  these  abodes." 


228  NOTES    TO    CANTO    SECOND. 

PAGE  74,  LAST  VERSE,  LINE  i. 

See  fable  of  Zephyr  and  Hyacinth.  Oriel  is  supposed  to  show 
himself  to  mortals  as  Zephyrus,  while  Phraerion  in  reality  nurses 
and  protects  the  flowers. 

PAGE  75,  VERSE  3,  LAST  LINE. 

Zophiel,  as  may  be  perceived,  since  his  first  introduction,  is  sup 
posed  to  be  that  fallen  angel  who  was  adored  by  mortals  as  the 
god  Apollo.  This  manner  of  imparting  to  a  young  artist  excel 
lence  in  sculpture  is  not,  therefore,  out  of  character. 


PAGE  77,  LAST  VERSE. 

"  Dejected  Egla  -went 
With  all  her  house,  and  seeks  her  own  acacia-grove" 

The  facility  with  which  the  young  king  of  Media  forgets  his 
beautiful  captive,  setting  aside  the  effect  produced  by  the  prema 
ture  death  of  Altheetor  his  preserver,  agrees  perfectly  with  the 
following  description :  — 

"  Nous  rencontrames  une  troupe  a  cheval  leste  ct  brillant,  a  la 
tete  de  laquelle  e'tait  le  jeune  Pharnabaze,  1'air  serein  et  radieux, 
faisant  caracoler  son  cheval,  et  plaisantant  avec  ses  camarades ; 
j'en  fus  e'tourdis  :  je  1'avais  vue,  la  veille,  desespere ;  s'arrachant 
les  cheveux,  se  jettant  sur  le  corps  dc  la  belle  Statira ;  invoquant 
la  mort,  voulant  se  poignarcler ;  et,  deja,  la  rire,  le  plaisir,  avait 
succedes  a  ce  grand  desespoir." —  Voyages  d^Antenor. 


NOTES  TO   CANTO  THIRD. 


PALACE   OF   GNOMES. 

Having  liberty,  while  at  Paris,  to  take  any  books  I  might  wish 
from  the  Bibliotheque  du  Roi,  and  M.  Van  Praet  being  very  obli 
ging  in  looking  for  them,  it  was  in  my  power  to  make  much  more 
copious  notes  than  will  appear  to  this  canto,  which,  from  its  sub 
ject,  admits  of  a  great  variety.  Many  obstacles  and  engagements 
occurred  to  prevent ;  which  I  regret  only  because  many  passages 
of  the  old  Christian  writers  and  their  Pagan  contemporaries,  on  the 
subject  of  angels  and  other  spirits,  are  extremely  curious  and  enter 
taining.  Sufficient  poetical  authority  is,  however,  given  for  the 
incidents  of  the  story;  and  the  text,  perhaps,  is  sufficiently  ex 
plained.  Copious  notes  extracted  from  the  works  of  others  indi 
cate  nothing  but  toil  and  patience  in  the  writer. 


PAGE  Si,  VERSE  2,  LINE  i. 

"  The  heavenly  angel  watched  his  subject  star." 

This  line  is  in  accordance  with  the  belief  that  the  stars  are 
guarded  by  celestial  intelligences,  to  the  prevalence  of  which  many 
passages  in  the  sacred  writings  bear  testiVnony,  and  from  which 
may  be  inferred  a  possibility  that  each  inhabited  and  separate 

229 


230          NOTES  TO  CANTO  THIRD. 

planet  may,  in  reality,  be  under  the  care  of  some  delegate  spirit. 
Saturnius  of  Antioch  taught  that  "the  world  and  its  first  inhabit 
ants  were  created  by  seven  angels,  which  presided  over  the  seven 
planets ;"  and  that  "the  work  was  carried  on  without  the  knowl 
edge  of  the  benevolent  deity,  and  in  opposition  to  the  material  prin 
ciple.  The  former,  however,  beheld  it  with  approbation,  and  hon 
ored  it  with  several  marks  of  his  beneficence." 

Many  singular  systems  of  this  kind  are  classed  under  the  name  of 
heresies  hv  Mosheim. 


PACK  Si,  VERSE  3,  LINE  3. 

The  trunk  of  the  palm-tree  is  of  a  light  dove  or  ash  color,  and 
assumes  a  silvery  appearance  by  moonlight. 


PAGE  82,  VERSE  i,  LINE  3. 

"Myrrh  her  tears  of  fragrance  weeps." 

I  had  hoped  to  see  the  plant  myrrh  in  the  Jardin  des  Plantes 
at  Paris,  but  was  disappointed.  Its  appearance,  however,  can  be 
easily  conceived  by  the  following:  "Mr.  Bruce,  while  in  Abys 
sinia,  made  some  remarks  on  the  myrrh-tree,  which  are  to  be  found 
in  the  'Journal  de  Physique,'  &c.,  tome  xiii.,  1778.  He  (Bruce) 
says  that  the  naked  troglodytes  brought  him  specimens  of  myrrh, 
of  which  lx>th  the  leaves  and  bark  bore  a  great  resemblance  to 
the  acacia  vera."  Among  the  leaves  he  observed  some  straight 
prickles  about  two  inches  in  length.  lie  likewise  mentions  seeing 
a  saffa-tree,  which  was  a  native  of  the  myrrh  country,  covered  with 
beautiful  crimson  flowers.  Drops  of  perfume  distil  from  this  tree, 
which  probably  harden  into  that  substance  called  myrrh,  which  is 
common  in  medicine.  In  one  of  the  letters  of  M.  Demonstier's 
delightful  work  on  Mythology  the  young  Adonis  is  represented  as 
pointing  to  a  myrrh-tree,  and  exclaiming,  "  Ilelas  !  ces  larmes  pre- 
cieuses  sont  les  pleurs  de  ma  mere !  "  who,  according  to  the  fable, 
was  metamorphosed  by  the  gods  in  compassion  to  her  grief. 


PALACE    OF    GNOMES.  23! 

PAGE  82,  VERSE  i,  LAST  LINE. 

For  an  account  of  the  "spikenard  of  the  ancients,"  Sir  William 
Jones  may  be  referred  to  with  pleasure.  One  species  of  it  is  said 
to  have  been  discovered  by  the  horses  and  elephants  of  the  vizier 
Afufaddaulah.  "  If  the  spikenard  of  India  was  a  rccd,  or  grass, 
we  can  never  be  able  to  discover  it  among  the  genera  of  those 
natural  orders  which  here  form  a  wilderness  of  sweets ;  and  some 
of  them  have  not  only  fragrant  roots,  but  even  spikes,  in  the 
ancient  and  modern  sense  of  that  emphatical  word." 


PAGE  82,  VERSE  2,  LINE  i. 

"  Proud  prickly  cerea,  now  thy  blossom  'scapes 

Its  cell." 

Few  persons  have  seen  the  blossom  of  this  astonishing  flower, 
because  it  only  opens  at  or  after  midnight,  and  is  so  evanescent, 
that,  unless  constantly  watched,  it  is  difficult  to  know  the  exact 
time  of  its  perfection.  It  is  large,  and  of  a  yellowish  white ;  and 
in  its  cup,  or  rather  in  the  midst  of"  its  fragrant  petals,  there  is  an 
appearance  of  lambent  light  or  flame,  resembling  burning  nitre. 


PACK  82,  VERSE  3,  LINE  3. 

The  ancients  throughout  Syria  (though  ignorant  of  some  useful 
principles  discovered  by  modern  science)  were  very  skilful  in  hy 
draulics.  Some  of  the  earlier  kings  of  that  country  had  gardens 
with  fountains  and  artificial  streams  without  the  walls  of  Jeru 
salem,  in  a  place  which  is  now  a  parched  and  barren  desert.  —  See 


PAGE  82,  LAST  VERSE,  LAST  LINK. 

Of  all  the  varieties  of  this  celebrated  flower,  the  red  or  rose- 
colored  is  the  most  admired  for  its  fragrance  ;  the  white  and  yellow 
give  a  fainter  odor  ;  and  the  azure-colored  lotos,  which  is  a  native 
of  Persia  and  Cashmir,  is  perhaps  the  most  beautiful  of  all. 


232          NOTES  TO  CANTO  THIRD. 

PAGE  83,  VERSE  2,  LINE  i. 

The  night-blooming  cercus  is  fond  of  clasping  rocks,  old  walls, 
or  fallen  trees.  It  grows  in  profusion  where  these  verses  were 
written  (Cuba),  and  produces  a  fruit  not  unpleasant  to  the  taste. 


PAGE  86,  VERSE  4,  LAST  LINES. 

"  To  share  its  joys,  assist  its  vast  design 
With  high  intelligence:  oh  dangerous  gift!" 

It  is  said  that  the  angels  who  rebelled  were  among  the  most  wise 
and  powerful  of  celestial  creatures.  None  of  them  were  more  re 
splendent  in  beauty  than  Lucifer,  who  drew  with  him,  when  he  fell, 
a  third  part  of  the  stars  of  heaven. 

The  supposition  that  many  beings,  subordinate  to  the  supreme 
will,  were  employed  in  that  disposition  of  matter  called  "  the 
creation,"  is  not  only  according  to  every  system  of  religion,  but 
agreeable  to  all  analog)'.  "  God  said,  Let  there  be  light ;  and  light 
was."  The  King  of  Persia  commanded  a  temple  to  be  built,  and 
it  rose.  There  is  little  more  reason  to  believe  that  the  first  was 
accomplished  without  multiplied  means  and  agency  than  the  last. 
Every  thing  in  natural  history  and  in  natural  philosophy  favors  the 
idea  of  an  infinity  of  beings  to  supply  the  gradations  between  man 
and  the  Sovereign  of  creation.  Indeed,  after  thinking  a  little  on 
the  subject,  it  seems  almost  absurd  to  believe  the  contrary.  This 
belief,  besides,  is  far  more  pleasing  in  itself  than  that  of  regarding 
the  Supreme  Giver  of  life  only  as  an  all-competent  artisan. 

M.  1'Abbe  Poule,  discoursing  upon  a  future  state  of  existence, 
gives  the  following  passage  :  — 

"  Us  ne  seront  plus  caches,  pour  nous,  ces  etres  innombrables, 
qui  echappent  a  nos  connoissanccs  par  leur  eloignement  ou  par  Icur 
petitesse ;  les  differentes  parties  qui  composent  le  vaste  ensemble 
dc  1'univers ;  leurs  structures,  leur  rapport,  leur  harmonic ;  ils  ne 
seront  plus  des  enigmes,  pour  nous,  ces  jeux  surprenans,  ces  secrets 
profonds  de  la  nature,  ces  ressorts  admirables  que  la  providence 
emploie  pour  la  conservation  et  la  propagation  de  tous  les  etres." 


PALACE    OF    GNOMES.  233 

I  translate  from  the  French  of  M.  de  Chateaubriand  the  follow 
ing  delightful  passage :  "  The  sovereign  happiness  of  the  elect  is 
a  consciousness  that  their  joys  are  never  to  be  terminated.  They 
are  incessantly  in  the  same  delicious  state  of  mind  as  a  mortal  who 
has  just  performed  a  good  or  heroic  action,  a  man  of  genius  who 
has  just  given  birth  to  a  sublime  conception,  of  a  person  in  the 
first  transports  of  an  unforbidden  love,  or  the  charms  of  a  friend 
ship  made  certain  by  a  long  series  of  adversity.  The  nobler 
passions  are  not  extinguished  by  death,  in  the  hearts  of  the  just ; 
and  whenever  they  are  found,  even  on  earth,  respire  something  of 
the  grandeur  and  eternity  of  the  Supreme  Intelligence." 


PAGE  87,  VERSE  4,  LAST  LINE. 

From  the  blooming  of  the  roses  at  Ecbatana  to  the  coming-in  of 
spices  at  Babylon. 


PAGE  88,  VERSE  4,  LAST  LINE,  AND  VERSE  5. 

"  That  vague,  wondrous  lore 

"  But  seldom  told  to  mortals,  —  arts  on  gems 
Inscribed  that  still  exist ;  but  hidden  so, 
From  fear  of  those  ivho  told,  that  diadems 
Have  passed  from  brows  that  vainly  ached  to  know." 

It  is  said  to  have  been  believed  by  the  Egyptians  that  many 
wonderful  secrets  were  engraved  by  one  of  the  Mercuries  on  tablets 
of  emerald,  which  still  remain  hidden  in  some  part  of  their  country. 

Being  assisted  by  a  friend  in  looking  over  the  first  part  of 
Brucker's  "  Historia  Critica  Philosophise  "  for  something  concern 
ing  these  tablets  of  emerald,  we  were  soon  disappointed  by  the  fol 
lowing  passage  :  — 

"  Non  detenibimus  itaque  lectorem  fabularum  de  Mercurio  Grae- 
carum  atque  Latinarum  recitatione,  quas  qui  legere  vult,  apud 
Lilium  Gyraldum  (Lugd.  Bat.  1698,  4)  vel  Natalem  Comitem  (My- 
thol.  L.  V.,  c.  5.  P.  M.  439)  aliosquc  mythologiae  veteris  interpretes 


234          NOTES  TO  CANTO  THIRD. 

abunde  invenict  uncle  sitem  extinguat."  To  those  authors,  there 
fore,  the  reader  is  referred. 

Some  of  the  fathers  (Tertullian  in  particular)  supposed  that  all 
impious  and  daring  sciences,  such  as  magic  and  alchemy,  came  to 
the  heathen  nations  through  the  medium  of  fallen  angels,  who, 
during  the  violence  of  their  love  for  particular  women,  would 
sometimes  reveal  to  them  doctrines  and  truths  which  could  never 
otherwise  have  been  conceived  by  their  poets  and  philosophers. 

Petrarch,  in  a  letter  to  Robert,  King  of  Naples,  says,  "  The  ex 
pectation  which  our  faith  presents  was  unknown  to  the  heathen 
philosophers ;  but  they  felt  that  the  soul  was  not  to  die."  Phere- 
cydcs  was  the  first  among  them  who  openly  maintained  it.  Phere- 
cydes  most  probably  conceived  his  belief  from  old  and  vague  tradi 
tions,  confirmed  by  his  own  feelings  and  experience. 

"  Epicurus,"  continues  Petrarch,  "  was  the  only  one  who  denied 
it.  From  Pherecydes  it  passed  to  Pythagoras,  from  Pythagoras 
to  Socrates,  from  Socrates  to  Plato;  and  Cicero  established  this 
doctrine  in  his  discourses  on  friendship,  old  age,  and  other  parts  of 
his  works." 

The  lives  of  all  these  philosophers,  that  of  Socrates  in  particular, 
rather  confirm  than  disprove  the  belief  of  the  fathers  respecting 
communications  from  a  higher  order  of  beings. 


PAGE  92,  VERSE  3,  LAST  LINE. 

"  Though  like  thin  shades  or  air  they  mock  dull  mortals  sight." 

The  discoveries  effected  by  chemistry  and  natural  philosophy, 
although  they  make  apparent  the  fallacy  of  many  superstitions,  do 
not  in  the  least  disprove  the  existence  of  spiritual  creatures.  After 
hearing  explained  the  nature  of  light  and  heat,  and  observing  the 
effects  produced  by  many  common  experiments,  it  is  not  difficult 
to  conceive  of  beings  powerful,  beautiful,  and  exquisitely  organized, 
yet  of  a  material  so  refined  and  subtle  as  easily  to  elude  the  most 
perfect  animal  perception. 


PALACE    OF    GNOMES.  235 

TAGE  92,  VERSE  5,  FIRST  LINES. 

"  The  Palace  of  the  Gnome, 
Tahathyam." 

In  respect  to  the  birth  of  Tahathyam  and  his  court,  I  have  fol 
lowed  the  opinion  of  Tertullian  and  others.  The  beings,  however, 
which  are  described  in  the  text,  can  only  be  called  gnomes  from 
their  residence  in  the  earth,  and  their  knowledge  of  mineralogy  and 

gems.     The 

"  Four  dusky  spirits,  by  a  secret  art, 
Taught  by  a  father  thoughtful  of  his  wants," 

which  "  Tahathyam  kept "  in  his  immediate  service,  might  have 
answered  the  description  of  the  Comte  de  Gabalis. 

"  La  terre  est  remplie,  presque  jusqu'au  centre,  de  gnomes,  gens 
de  petites  statures,  gardiens  des  tresors,  des  mineraux,  et  des  pierre- 
ries.  Ceux-ci  sont  ingenieux,  amis  de  I'homme,  et  faciles  a  com 
mander.  Les  gnomides,  leurs  femmes,  sont  petites  mais  fort  agrea 
bles  et  leur  habit  est  fort  curieux." 

"  Les  gnomes  et  les  sylphes  sont  mortels,  mais  cessent  d'etre 
mortel  du  moment  qu'ils  epousent  une  de  nos  filles." 

"  De  la  naquit  1'erreur  des  premiers  siecles,  de  Tertullien,  du 
martyr  Justin,  de  Lactance,  de  Cyprien,  de  Clement  d'Alexandrie, 
d'Anathagore,  philosophic  Chretien,  et  generalemcnt  de  tons  les  ecri- 
vains  de  ce  terns  Id.  Us  avaient  appris  que  ces  demi-Jiommes  elemen- 
taires  avaient  recherche  le  commerce  des  filles  ;  et  Us  ont  imagine 
qite  la  chute  des  anges  jietoit  venue  que  de  ramour  dont  ils  s'etaient 
laisses  toucher  pour  les  femmes.  Quelques  gnomes  desireux  de 
devenir  immortels  avaient  voulu  gagner  les  bonnes  graces  de  nos 
filles,  et  leur  avaient  apportees  des  pierreries  dont  ils  sont  gardiens 
naturels ;  et  ces  auteurs  ont  cru  s'appuyans  sur  le  livre  d'Enoch 
mal-entendu,  que  c'etaient  des  pieges  que  les  anges  amoureux  avaient 
prepares  pour  mieux  en  assurer  la  conquete." —  Comte  de  Gabalis. 

Though  not  immediately  relative  to  the  subject,  I  cannot  forbear 
inserting  the  following  curious  account  of  sylphs-  — 

"  L'air  est  plcin  d'une  innombrable  multitude  de  peuples  de 
figure  hmnaine,  un  peu  fiers  en  apparence,  mais  dociles  en  cffet : 
officieux  aux  sages,  et  ennemics  des  sots  et  des  ignorans.  Lcurs 


236  NOTES   TO    CANTO    THIRD. 

fcmmes  et  leurs  fillcs  sont  des  beautes  males  tcllcs  qu'on  dcpcint 
les  amazones." — Le  mime. 


PAGE  94,  VERSE  4,  LAST  LINE. 

Not    far  from   the   scene   of  Vulcan's  labors  :   yet  the  regions 
sought  by  these  spirits  must  have  been  very  much  deeper. 


PAGE  99,  VERSE  4. 

"  Had  lightly  left  his  pure  and  blissful  home 
To  taste  the  blandishments  of  mortal  love." 

In  the  Book  of  Enoch,  two  hundred  or  more  of  such  angels  as 
Cephroniel  are  said  to  have  descended  on  Mount  Hermon  for  the 
purpose  of  visiting  women  of  whose  beauty  they  had  become  en 
amoured.  Tertullian  regards  this  book  as  of  sacred  authority,  as 
will  be  seen  in  the  article,  "  De  Ilabitu  Muliebri ;  "  but  some  of  the 
other  fathers  are  disinclined  to  believe  it. 


PAGE  100,  VERSE  i. 

This  manner  of  bearing  the  car  is  not  inconsistent  with  the  known 
docility  and  strength  of  serpents  in  general. 


PAGE  100,  VERSE  2,  LAST  LINE. 
Tsavevcn  signifies  tint-gem. 


PAGE  100,  VERSE  3,  LINE  2. 

It  has  been  said  that  an  art  once  existed  of  composing  a  sub 
stance,  which,  together  with  a  perfect  pliancy,  had  the  color  and 
transparency  of  glass  or  crystal. 


PALACE    OF    GNOMES. 


PAGE  100,  VERSE  4. 

"  The  reptiles,  in  their  fearful  beauty,  drew, 
As  if  from  love,  like  steeds  -of  Araby  : 
Like  blood  of  lady  's  lip  their  scarlet  hue." 

The  docility,  and  even  affection,  of  the  serpent,  is  sufficiently 
known  and  attested.  Some  chemical  arts  might  have  been  used 
to  give  the  scales  of  these  their  scarlet  color,  surrounded  as  they 
were  by  beings  of  such  exquisite  skill.  Little  serpents,  however, 
of  a  bright  glossy  scarlet,  are  not  uncommon  in  America  ;  and  (if 
the  Count  de  Buffon,  and  his  admirer  and  frequent  translator  Dr. 
Goldsmith,  are  to  be  relied  on)  the  snake,  as  long  as  it  lives,  con 
tinues  to  increase,  having  no  fixed  dimensions  allotted  to  it  like 
other  animals.  These  most  pleasing  writers  (if  I  am  not  much 
mistaken)  believe  also  that  no  particular  bound  is  set  to  its  vitality, 
and  that  it  is  capable  of  retaining  life  and  youth  so  long  as  it  can 
be  preserved  from  accidents. 

The  following  account  of  the  celebrated  exploit  of  Prometheus, 
which  M.  de  Lender  puts  into  the  mouth  of  an  old  Grecian  or 
Assyrian  mariner,  may  not  be  unentertaining  :  — 

Prometheus,  having  made  a  statue  of  clay,  mixed  with  it  levin  of 
gall,  flesh  of  the  aspic,  and  foam  of  the  lion.  But  the  figure  was 
still  an  insensible  mass.  Prometheus  stole  fire  from  the  sun,  and 
man  was  animated.  Scarcely  had  he  drawn  a  breath  ere  he  com 
plained  to  the  gods  of  the  fatal  gift  of  life  :  pain  was  his  first  sen 
sation.  Jupiter,  to  console  him,  and  mitigate  his  sufferings,  gave 
him  a  drug  that  had  the  virtue  of  restoring  youth.  The  man  was 
delighted  with  the  present,  and  placed  it  on  an  ass  for  the  purpose 
of  conveying  it  to  his  own  abode. 

The  beast,  tormented  with  thirst,  stopped  on  his  way  at  a  foun 
tain  guarded  by  a  serpent.  The  wicked  reptile  would  not  suffer 
him  to  drink,  except  on  condition  that  the  drug  should  meanwhile 
be  left  in  its  care.  The  ass  consented,  and  the  serpent  kept  the 
drug.  From  that  time  the  serpent  has  had  power  to  renew  its 
youth,  while  poor  human  beings  grow  old  without  remedy. 


238  NOTES    TO    CANTO    THIRD. 

PAGE  101,  VERSE  3. 

"  Bright  Ramaiiur followed  on,  in  order  meet; 
Then  Nahalcoul  and  Zotzaraven,  best 
Belm>ed,  save  Rouamasak  of  perfume  sweet; 
Then  Talhazak  and  Marmorak." 

These  names  are  formed  from  Hebraic  words,  expressive  of  the 
various  qualities  and  employments  of  the  beings  who  bear  them. 

Aishalat  signifies  fire-control;  Psaamayim,  black-water;  Ra- 
maour,  light-direct ;  Nahalcoul,  guide-sound ;  Zotzaraven,  shape- 
spar  ;  Rouamasak,  mingle-air  ;  Talhazak,  dew-congeal ;  Marmorak 
(partly  Greek),  marble-stain. 

Nothing  can  be  more  barbarous  than  Hebrew  words  as  they  are 
pronounced  in  English.  They  are,  however,  much  softer  on  the 
lips  of  Oriental  speakers,  or  even  those  of  the  south  of  Europe. 
Some  of  the  dialects  of  the  aborigines  of  America,  though  they 
look  so  repulsively  as  we  get  them  on  paper,  are  soft  as  the  mur 
mur  of  the  forest  when  spoken  by  forest  orators. 


PAGE  102,  VERSE  4. 

Diamond,  it  is  said,  is  but  crystal  of  carbon.  Tahathyam,  how 
ever,  might  not  have  meant  to  have  his  flowers  literally  covered  or 
incrusted  with  diamond,  but  might  only  have  used  this  expression 
to  impress  on  Talhazak  a  sense  of  the  value  he  held  them  in. 


PAGE  104,  VERSE  4. 

"  Where  is  the  bright  Cephroniel  ?    Spirit,  tell 
But  haiu  he  fares." 

Tahathyam  has  never  seen  his  father  since  first  established  in 
his  submarine  kingdom ;  and  knows  not  whether  he  has  been  re 
ceived  again  into  heaven,  or  remains  still  wandering  about  in  a 
state  of  punishment.  The  crimes  of  those  angels  made  guilty  only 
by  their  intercourse  with  mortals  were  supposed  to  have  bcc:i 
punished  less  severely  than  those  of  the  subordinates  of  the  prince 
of  ambition. 


PALACE    OF    GNOMES.  239 

PAGE  105,  LAST  VERSE. 

It  was  perfectly  in  the  power  of  optics  and  chemistry,  of  which 
sciences  these  beings  were  in  possession,  to  produce  the  effect 
described  beneath  the  roof  of  so  vast  a  cavern. 


PAGE  107,  VERSE  4. 

"  That  baffling,  maddening,  fascinating  art, 
Half  told  by  Sprite  most  mischievous,  that  he 
Might  laugh  to  see  men  toil,  then  not  impart." 

Some  alchemists  still  exist  who  have  not  laid  aside  the  hope  of 
success  in  their  labors. 

In  Voltaire's  "  Life  of  Charles  XII."  is  related  the  following 
circumstance  :  "  A  certain  Livonian,  who  was  an  officer  in  the 
Saxon  army,  and  named  Paikel,  was  made  prisoner  by  the  troops 
of  Charles,  and  condemned  to  be  decapitated  at  Stockholm.  Before 
the  execution  of  his  sentence  he  found  means  to  inform  the  senate 
that  he  was  in  possession  of  the  secret  of  making  gold ;  which, 
on  condition  of  pardon,  he  would  communicate  to  the  king.  The 
experiment  was  made  in  prison,  in  presence  of  Col.  Hamilton  and 
the  magistrates  of  the  city.  The  gold  found  in  the  crucible  after 
the  experiment  was  carried  to  the  mint  at  Stockholm,  and  a  judicial 
report  made  to  the  senate ;  which  appeared  so  important,  that  the 
queen-mother  ordered  the  execution  to  be  suspended  until  the  king 
could  be  informed  of  so  singular  an  event,  and  transmit  his  orders 
to  Stockholm.  Charles  answered  that  he  had  refused  the  pardon 
of  the  criminal  to  his  relations,  and  that  he  would  never  grant  to 
interest  what  he  had  refused  to  friendship.  After  viewing  the  fable 
of  Midas,  in  connection  with  the  belief  of  the  fathers,  it  is  not  diffi 
cult  to  imagine  that  the  secret  of  alchemy  was  actually  imparted  to 
that  king  by  a  fallen  angel,  who  caused  himself  to  be  adored  as 
the  god  Bacchus ;  and  the  disastrous  consequences  that  must 
necessarily  ensue,  provided  such  an  art  could  be  obtained,  are 
forcibly  depicted  in  the  sufferings  of  Midas. 

Gold,  like  every  thing  else  not  absolutely  necessary  to  existence, 


24O         NOTES  TO  CANTO  THIRD. 

would  cease  to  be  valued  as  soon  as  it  became  plentiful ;  but  nothing 
would,  perhaps,  occasion  more  dreadful  immediate  misery  than  a 
possibility  of  procuring  it  easily. 

The  secret  of  alchemy,  even  if  it  could  be  discovered,  would 
bring  with  it  nothing  delightful ;  but  it  is  pleasant  to  imagine  a 
glimpse  of  possibility  of  discovering,  sooner  or  later,  the  means  of 
preserving  mortal  life  beyond  its  present  imperfect  term. 

It  has  always  seemed  to  me  (whether  any  other  person  has 
thought  the  same  I  know  not)  that  something  in  favor  of  this 
possibility  may  be  inferred  from  a  passage  in  the  Mosaic  account 
of  the  fall.  The  first  pair  are  driven  from  the  garden,  lest,  having 
tasted  the  tree  of  knowledge,  they  might  pluck  also  of  the  tree  of 
life,  and  live  former.  Is  this  an  allegory  ?  or  to  what  does  the 
passage  relate  ? 

"  The  animals,"  says  Father  Jerom  Dandini  in  his  "  Voyage  to 
Mount  Libanus,"  "  eat  a  certain  herb  which  causes  their  teeth  to 
change  to  a  golden  color."  This  herb  leather  Jerom  thinks  must 
proceed  from  mines  under  Mount  Ida.  And  Xiebuhr  mentions 
that  the  Eastern  alchemists  fancy  their  success  would  be  certain, 
provided  they  could  find  out  the  herb  which  tinges  the  color  of  the 
flesh  of  the  sheep  that  eat  it. 


PAGE  109,  LAST  VERSE;   PAGE  110,  VERSE  i. 

"  In  form  of  canopy  was  seen  to  fall 
The  stony  tapestry." 

There  now  exists,  either  in  Virginia  or  some  of  the  neighboring 
country  (I  have  no  reference,  and  do  not  recollect  this  particular), 
a  singularly  beautiful  grotto,  called,  by  those  who  live  around  it, 
Wyer^s  Cave.  It  contains  several  apartments,  in  some  of  which 
the  concretions  are  said  by  those  who  have  seen  them  to  be  spread 
over  the  sides  and  roof  in  the  form  of  curtains  and  festoons.  One 
of  the  chambers  is  extremely  remarkable.  It  is  commonly  called 
the  "  Lady's  Drawing-room ; "  and  on  one  side  of  it  a  crystalline 
projection  is  shown,  which  rings  at  the  touch  in  such  a  manner, 


PALACE    OF    GNOMES.  24! 

that  the  person  whose  description  I  saw  fancied  a  skilful  hand 
might  draw  music  from  it.  Many  curious  and  extensive  caverns 
are  found  in  the  Island  of  Cuba.  One  near  the  Bay  of  Matanzas  is 
often  visited  by  strangers ;  but  nobody  has  ventured  to  penetrate 
far.  I  visited  one  twenty  miles  distant  from  this,  and  not  far  from 
the  estate  San  Patricio,  which  contained  three  apartments  and  a 
reservoir  of  water.  Being  a  great  deal  above  the  surface  of  the 
earth,  on  the  side  of  a  pleasant  hill,  it  would  not,  in  that  climate, 
have  been  very  uncomfortable  as  a  residence.  Some  of  the  con 
cretions  had  attained  the  shape  of  large  and  perfect  columns; 
others  were  in  the  form  of  two  acute  pyramids  or  obelisks,  —  one 
depending  from  the  roof,  and  the  other  rising  from  the  floor.  These 
were  of  a  whitish  color ;  but  though  evening  came  on,  and  we  had 
two  or  three  tapers,  I  could  see  nothing  transparent  or  sparkling. 
This  grotto  is  on  either  the  Cafetal  Teresa,  or  the  one  adjoining  it : 
the  boundaries  of  both  were  covered  with  wood.  There  is  another, 
deeper  in  the  earth,  about  six  or  seven  English  miles  from  Matanzas, 
on  the  estate  of  Octavius  Mitchell,  Esq.,  from  which  I  was  shown 
specimens  of  spar  of  the  size  and  shape  of  a  common  quill,  and 
clear  like  glass.  Some  beautiful  concretions,  or  perhaps  petrifac 
tions,  were  also  found  there,  which  were  said  to  bear  some  resem 
blance  to  groups  of  sculpture.  These  I  did  not  see ;  but  one  was 
taken  out,  and  named  "  The  Twins  of  Latona." 


PAGE  1 10,  VERSE  4,  LINE  3. 

This  name  is  compounded  of  a  Hebraic  and  a  Greek  word,  and 
signifies  to  move  or  affect  the  soul. 


PAGE  114,  LAST  VERSE,  FIRST  WORDS. 
From  eva,  life  ;  and  nathan,  to  give. 


NOTES  TO   CANTO   FOURTH. 


THE    STORM. 

PAGE  119,  VERSE  2,  LAST  LINE. 

"  And  fed  on  the  re^'cnge  deep  smouldering  in  liis  breast" 

Caius  Marius,  musing  over  the  ruins  of  Carthage,  has  been  made 
the  subject  of  a  very  good  picture ;  and  the  author  of  that  not  very 
old  Italian  work  entitled  "  Notti  Romane  "  has  entered  with  great 
effect  into  those  feelings  which  the  successor  of  Sylla  probably 
acted  under.  If  the  characters  of  those  who  commit  crimes  could 
be  analyzed,  it  would  be  found,  perhaps  invariably,  that  such  per 
sons  are  either  too  stupid  to  be  sensible  of  what  they  do,  or  under 
some  illusion  of  feeling  or  imagination  which  entirely  conceals  from 
them  its  atrocity. 

"  Nodrito  clalla  sola  vendetta  m'  inoltrai  sulla  spiaggia  peregri- 
nando  verso  Minturno :  ivi  mi  abbattei  immantininte  ne'  guerrieri 
Sillani  mici  indefessi  persecutori.  Mi  gettai  fra  le  onde  a  nuoto,  e 
mi  rivolei  a  due  navi,  non  remote,  per  ricoverarmi  in  esse.  Le 
gravi,  provette,  vaste,  oppresse,  mie  membra  faceano  a  stento 
quell'  offizio,  cosi  che  il  sommergermi  era  imminente,  lo  udiva,  in- 
tanto  que'  sicarj  dal  lido  far  voti  crudeli  a  Nettuno,  ed  a  Nereo 
perche  mi  traessero  negli  abbissi  loro,  et  invocare  i  mostri  voraci 
del  mare  ;  e  schernire  con  ribalde  parole  quella  mia  trista  ansieta. 
242 


THE    STORM.  243 

'"A  me  sospinto  da  continue  sciagure,  scacciuto  da  ogni  lido,  era 
omai  divenuto  ogni  terra  inospitale,  ogni  mare  tempestoso  ;  e  stetti 
muto  contemplando  la  ruine  della  spenta  Cartagine,  come  specchio 
della  fortuna."  — Notti  Romane. 

Marius,  soon  after  the  scene  depicted  in  this  extract,  returned  to 
Rome,  and  (as  he  is  made  to  express  it  in  the  same  work)  purged 
the  city  of  its  horrid  ingratitude. 


PAGE  119,  VERSE  3,  LAST  LINE. 

"  From  where  with  children  's  blood  their  guilty  altars  reek." 

The  Carthaginians  retained  the  custom  of  offering  human  sacri 
fices  to  their  gods  till  the  destruction  of  their  city.  When  Gelon 
of  Syracuse  gained  a  victory  over  them  in  Sicily,  one  of  the  articles 
of  stipulation  was  that  no  more  human  lives  should  be  sacrificed  to 
Saturn.  "  For,"  says  Rollin,"  during  the  whole  engagement,  which 
lasted  from  morn  till  night,  Hamilcar,  the  son  of  Hanno,  was  con 
tinually  offering  to  the  gods  sacrifices  of  living  men,  who  were 
thrown  on  a  flaming  pile."  Seeing  his  troops  put  to  flight,  Hamil 
car  threw  himself  upon  the  same  pile,  and  received,  after  his  death, 
divine  honors.  Mothers  (according  to  Plutarch  and  Tertuilian) 
threw  their  children  into  the  sacrificial  flames,  and  the  least  in 
dication  of  pity  or  sorrow  would  have  been  punished  in  them  as 
impious. 

According  to  the  belief  of  the  fathers,  it  must  have  been  the 
princely  instigator  of  the  rebellion  in  heaven  who  caused  himself  tc 
be  adored  as  the  god  Belus  or  Saturn,  whose  altars  were  continually 
glowing  with  the  blood  and  flames  of  human  sacrifices.  Those 
angels  who  fell  from  the  thirst  of  power  must  have  been  the  au 
thors  of  all  cruelty.  The  seraphic  offenders  were  only  voluptuous. 
The  angel  presiding  over  licentious  love  is  sometimes  forcibly 
alluded  to  in  "  Les  Martyrs  "  of  M.  de  Chateaubriand. 


244         NOTES  TO  CANTO  FOURTH. 

PAGE  119,  LAST  VERSE,  FIRST  LINES. 

"  But  far,  far  off,  upon  the  sea 's  expanse, 
The  very  silence  has  a  shriek  of  fear  " 

In  the  suspense  and  stillness  which  precede  a  storm  on  or  near 
the  ocean,  or  any  other  vast  extent  of  water,  there  is  an  effect  pro 
duced  on  the  feelings  of  some  persons  as  if  a  shriek  were  really 
uttered  in  the  distance.  This  effect  was  probably  attributed,  by 
such  of  the  ancients  as  observed  it,  to  their  sea-gods  or  nymphs. 
Christian  fathers  or  Jewish  rabbins  must  have  supposed  it  to  pro 
ceed  from  those  angels,  who,  according  to  the  books  of  the  latter, 
preside  over  the  elements. 


PAGE  124,  VERSE  i,  LINE  i. 

"  The  shivering  Sprite  of  flowers" 

According  to  the  Hebraic  writings,  nothing  animate  or  inani 
mate  exists  throughout  all  nature  without  a  particular  angel  to 
protect  and  take  care  of  it. 

"  Archangelos  et  angelos,  quibus  cura  committitur  Regnorum, 
provinciarum,  Nationum,  principum,  et  particularium  personarum  ; 
quaeritur  igitur,  num  etiam  animalia  bruta,  et  res  insensibiles,  id 
est  lapides,  et  elementa  atque  etiam  vegetabilia  habeant  proprios 
Angelos  ad  sui  custodiam  destinatos  ?  "  —  Bibliothcca  Magna  Rab~ 
binica :  Bartoloccii. 

This,  whether  true  or  false,  is  much  more  delightful  than  the 
belief  or  knowledge  that  every  thing  depends  on  material  laws. 
The  Greeks  had  a  nymph  for  every  tree  ;  and  their  religion  was  a 
mere  alteration  of  those  of  the  more  Oriental  and  ancient  nations. 
The  idea  of  the  Elysian  Fields  was,  it  has  been  supposed,  conceived 
by  Orpheus  after  a  glance  at  the  vast  subterranean  abodes  of  the 
priests  of  Egypt,  who,  as  is  usual,  converted  those  sublime  truths 
conveyed  to  them,  according  to  the  faith  of  the  fathers,  by  erring 
but  celestial  intelligences,  to  purposes  of  the  grossest  fraud  and 
cruelty. 


THE    STORM.  245 

PAGE  125,  LAST  VERSE;   PAGE  126,  VERSE  i. 

"  Not,  as  'tis  ivont,  with  intermitting Jlash, 
But  like  an  ocean  all  of  liquid  flame." 

This  is  but  a  simple  description  of  the  appearance  of  the  sky  for 
several  minutes  during  a  storm  which  happened  on  the  island 
where  the  verses  of  the  text  were  written,  either  in  the  year  1823 
or  1824.  I  lay  under  a  transparent  mosquito-net,  listening  to  the 
pleasing  noise  made  by  the  trees  and  shrubs  around  the  principal 
dwelling  of  the  Cafetal  San  Patricio,  and  watching  the  flashes  of 
lightning  that  darted  through  the  green  blinds  of  an  unglazed  win 
dow.  It  was  about  midnight  when  the  loudness  of  the  thunder 
peals  increased,  and  the  flashes  became  more  continued  than  any  I 
had  ever  seen.  A  crash  was  soon  heard  from  without,  and  the 
whole  room  seemed  deluged,  as  it  were,  with  flame. 

Thinking  the  building  on  fire,  I  arose,  and  succeeded  in  waking 
a  negress,  who  still  slept  soundly  by  the  door  of  my  apartment. 
Going  into  the  hall,  and  getting  a  window  opened  which  looked 
into  a  broad  piazza,  I  was  surprised  to  see  it  occupied  by  those 
fierce  dogs  which  were  accustomed  to  be  let  loose  at  ten  or  eleven 
o'clock  at  night,  in  order  that  they  might  prowl  about  till  sunrise, 
and  guard  the  plantation.  They  had  sought  shelter  from  the  ele 
ments  :  and,  as  they  ran  in  a  distressed  manner  from  one  side  of  the 
piazza  to  the  other,  it  seemed  as  if  they  moved  in  fire  ;  for  the 
whole  firmament  continued  to  be,  at  long  intervals,  like  a  vast  sea 
of  light.  Some  glazed  windows  on  the  slant  roof  of  the  building 
were  torn  from  their  hinges,  and  whirled  over  the  secaderos ; 1  and 
the  rain  then  descended  in  cataracts. 

The  sun  rose  brightly  next  morning ;  and  the  scene,  though 
rather  sad,  was  delightful.  The  Bermuda  grass-plats  were  strewn 
with  leaves,  twigs,  and  broken  flowers :  and  numbers  of  those 
black  birds  which  the  Spanish  inhabitants  of  the  island  call  judeos 
were  hovering  over  a  dark  clump  of  bamboos  which  had  been  torn 

1  Secaderos  are  made  of  plaster,  in  the  manner  of  broad  platforms,  rising  a 
little,  however,  in  the  centre,  and  formed  with  many  divisions  and  conduits  for  the 
rain,  which  i.;  retained  in  cisterns  beneath  them.  On  these  the  red  and  sweet- 
smelling  coffee-berries  are  dried. 


246         NOTES  TO  CANTO  FOURTH. 

up  by  the  roots,  and  uttering  the  most  piteous  cries ;  for  many  of 
them  were  unable  to  find  again  their  nests,  constructed  amidst  the 
almost  impervious  foliage  of  those  vast  and  beautiful  reeds  which 
now  lay  prostrate. 

The  palm  thatching  was  torn  from  some  of  the  out-houses  of 
San  Patricio.  One  mansion  on  a  neighboring  estate,  belonging  to 
Don  Jose  Martinez,  was  taken  by  the  tempest  from  an  insecure 
foundation,  and  set  in  another  place.  One  estate,  several  leagues 
distant,  and  near  a  river,  was  deluged.  But  no  human  lives,  that  I 
heard  of,  were  lost. 


PAGE  127,  VERSE  3. 

1  sable  mantle  fell  in  cloudy  fold 
~rom  its  stupendous  breast." 


That  many  of  the  angels  were  of  a  larger  stature  than  that  of 
men  appears  to  have  been  believed  by  the  Oriental  nations. 
Asrael,  or  Azarael,  who  assisted  in  forming  the  first  man,  was, 
according  to  Rabadan  the  Morisco,  noticed  particularly  by  the 
Creator  on  account  of  his  uncommon  stature. 

Herodotus  relates  that  Xerxes,  while  yet  undecided  upon  carrying 
the  war  into  Greece,  was  warmly  dissuaded  from  his  design  by  his 
brother  Artabanes.  Falling  asleep  soon  after,  he  saw  in  a  dream 
a  man  of  uncommon  stature  and  beauty,  who  urged  him  on  to  the 
undertaking.  This,  Calmet  supposes,  must  have  been  some  angel 
or  spirit  who  sought  his  destruction. 

It  is  said  of  Apollonius  Tyancus,  that,  coming  to  the  tomb  of 
Achilles,  he  raised  his  manes,  and  begged  that  the  figure  of  the 
hero  might  appear  to  him:  whereupon  a  phantom  appeared  like  a 
young  man,  seven  feet  and  a  half  high,  which  soon  increased  to 
twelve  cubits,  and  assumed  an  extraordinary  beauty.  The  whole, 
however,  proved  to  be  the  work  of  a  demon  which  Apollonius  had 
power  over.  This  incident  is  introduced  by  Byron  in  "  The  De 
formed  Transformed." 


THE   STORM.  247 

PAGE  129,  VERSE  3. 

"  There,  on  the  steam  of  human  heart-blood,  spilt 
By  priest  or  murderer,  make  repast." 

Those  evil  spirits  or  angels  who  caused  themselves  to  be  adored 
as  deities,  were  said  to  subsist  (according  to  M.  de  Fontenelle,  who 
gives  authority  for  all  that  he  asserts,  "  Leurs  corps  aeriens  se 
nourissent  de  fumigations  de  sang  repandu  et  de  la  graisse  de  sacri 
fices." —  Histoire  des  Oracles)  on  the  smoke  of  sacrifices.  One  is 
almost  induced  to  believe,  with  the  earlier  Christians,  that  demons 
really  inhabited  those  temples  where  so  much  human  blood  was 
spilled.  It  is  far  more  shocking  to  suppose  that  so  horrid  an  expe 
dient  could  have  been  invented  by  one's  fellow-mortals  for  the 
purposes  of  deception  or  interest. 


PAGE  129,  VERSE  3. 

"  Over  the  vile  creations  of  thy  guilt" 

It  is  not  impossible  that  some  of  the  angels  who  assisted  at  the 
creation  (as  is  believed  by  all  very  ancient  nations)  might,  after 
the  fall,  have  amused  themselves  with  making  those  noisome  and 
disgusting  reptiles  and  animalcula  which  can  but  startle  one's  be 
lief  in  the  beneficence  of  the  Being  who  formed  them. 


PAGE  129,  VERSE  4. 

"  Waste  thy  life-giving  power  on  reptiles  foul." 

Life,  it  is  supposed,  may  exist  without  the  slightest  mixture  of 
soul,  as  is  the  case  with  many  marine  animals.  .Some  chemists,  in 
the  enthusiasm  of  their  successes,  have  imagined  that  even  human 
life  was  kept  up  by  a  mechanical  process  carried  on  in  the  lungs. 
This,  granting  it  for  a  moment  to  be  true,  does  not  in  the  least 
detract  from  the  power  or  bounty  of  the  great  Creator  and  Foun 
tain  of  soul ;  for  of  what  value  is  any  animated  form  unless  ennobled 
by  a  breath  or  emanation  from  him  ? 


248         NOTES  TO  CANTO  FOURTH. 

After  receiving  it  as  a  truth,  that  such  beings  as  good  and  evil 
angels  exist,  one  may  reasonably  suppose  them  in  possession  of 
many  arts  and  much  science,  which  men,  from  the  shortness  of 
their  lives,  have  been  unable  to  attain. 


PAGE  129,  LAST  VERSE. 

"  While,  blent  with  winds,  feu  thousand  agenis  wage 
The  strife  anew." 

Many  passages  in  the  writings  of  both  Jews  and  Christians  occur 
to  justify  this.  It  must,  however,  have  been  some  inferior  angel, 
^who,  according  to  the  continually  quoted  belief  of  the  fathers,  was 
worshipped  as  the  god  ^olus.  The  "prince  of  the  powers  of  the 
air"  himself  must  have  been  sufficiently  employed  in  feasting  on 
the  exhalations  of  the  blood  of  his  numerous  sacrifices.  The  god 
Mars,  to  preserve  the  same  system  entire,  must  have  been  also  one 
of  his  subordinates.  The  field  of  battle,  therefore,  together  with 
the  hearts  that  quivered  on  altars  both  in  the  Old  and  New  World, 
must  have  made  his  banquets  long  and  frequent. 


PAGE  132,  VERSE  4. 

"  Though  the  first  seraph  formed,  how  could  I  tell 
The  ways  cf  guile  ?" 

The  angels  are  supposed  to  have  been  created  at  different 
periods :  they  were  endowed  with  different  capacities,  and  had 
different  employments  assigned  to  them. 

"  Cum  enim  soli  Angeli  supreme  hierarchic  immediate  illumi- 
ncntur  a  Deo,  illi  soli  dicuntur  assistere  Deo ;  caeteri  aliarum  hier- 
archiarum,  ministrantes  Angeli  nominantur.  Itaque  tam  illi,  quani 
isti  sunt  fere  infiniti."  —  Bibliotheca  Ma^na  Hebraica:  Bartoloccii. 


NOTES  TO   CANTO   FIFTH. 


ZAMBIA. 

PAGE  138,  VERSE  4,  LINE  i. 

"  'Tis  there  thou  bid'st  a  deeper  ardor  glow." 

It  has  been  generally  believed  that  "  the  cold  in  clime  are  cold 
in  blood;"  but  this,  on  examination,  would,  I  am  convinced,  be 
found  physically  untrue,  at  least,  in  those  climates  near  the  equator. 
It  is  here  that  most  cold-blooded  animals,  such  as  the  tortoise,  the 
serpent,  and  various  tribes  of  beautiful  insects,  are  found  in  the 
greatest  perfection. 

Fewer  instances  of  delirium  or  suicide,  occasioned  by  the  pas 
sion  of  love,  would,  perhaps,  be  found  within  the  tropics  than  in 
the  other  divisions  of  the  earth.  Nature,  in  the  colder  regions, 
appears  to  have  given  an  innate  warmth  and  energy  proportionate 
to  those  efforts  which  the  severity  of  the  elements,  and  the  numer 
ous  wants  which  they  create,  keep  continually  in  demand. 

Those  who  live,  as  it  were,  under  the  immediate  protection  of 
the  sun,  have  little  need  of  internal  fires.  Their  blood  is  cool  and 
thin;  and,  living  where  every  thing  is  soft  and  flattering  to  the 
senses,  it  is  not  surprising  that  their  thoughts  seldom  wander  far 
beyond  what  their  bright  eyes  can  look  upon. 

Though  sometimes  subject  to  violent  fits  of  jealousy,  these  gen- 

249 


25O  NOTES    TO    CANTO    FIFTH. 

erally  pass  off  without  leaving  much  regret  or  unhappiness  behind ; 
and  any  other  object  falling  in  their  way  (for  they  would  not  go  far 
to  seek  it)  would  very  soon  become  just  as  valuable  to  them  as  the 
one  lost.  Such  of  them  as  are  constant  are  rather  so  from  indo 
lence  than  from  any  depth  of  sentiment,  or  conviction  of  excellence. 
"  The  man  who  reflects,"  says  Rousseau,  "  is  a  monster  out  of  the 
order  of  nature."  The  natives  of  all  tropical  regions  might  be 
brought  forward  in  proof  of  his  assertion :  they  never  look  at 
remote  results,  or  enter  into  refined  speculations ;  and  yet  arc, 
undoubtedly,  less  unhappy  than  any  other  of  the  inhabitants  of 
earth. 

PAGE  139,  VERSE  3,  LAST  LINE. 

"  Excess  of  soul  through  the  mate  rial  breast." 

T  have  never  observed  this  effect  except  in  very  few  instances, 
and  those  were  of  persons  neither  brilliant  for  their  attainments, 
nor  ^with  one  exception)  remarkable  for  external  beauty.  They 
were,  however,  possessed  of  most  excellent  dispositions ;  and  it  was 
impossible  to  converse  with  them  without  being  sensible  of  some 
thing  which  could  be  felt,  and  almost  seen,  —  a  sort  of  emanation. 


PAGE  139,  VERSE  4,  LAST  LINES. 

"A  "Marmth  —  a  mystic  charm — seemed  breathing  through 
Each  viewless  pore,  and  circling  him  without." 

This  is  but  a  copy  from  the  life,  and  the  original  of  it  was  so 
uneducated  as  to  be  scarcely  tolerable  :  he  had  made,  however,  the 
most  generous  sacrifices  for  his  friends  and  relatives ;  and  it  was 
impossible  to  be  near  and  look  at  him,  while  speaking,  without  per 
ceiving  all  attempted  to  be  described  in  the  text. 


PAGE  140,  VERSE  3,  LAST  LINE. 

For   the  origin  of  the  name  of  this  mountain  or  ridge,  see  an 
article  on  Mount  Caucasus  in  "  Asiatic  Researches." 


ZAMEIA.  251 

PAGE  142,  VERSE  i,  LAST  LINE. 

"  Cast  me  to  the  flames,  and  save  me  from  the  thought  >" 

Human  victims  were  sometimes  thrown  into  fires  burning  in 
honor  of  the  god  Baal.  It  appears  from  some  passages  in  the 
Mosaic  writings  that  the  same  custom  prevailed  even  among  the 
Hebrews. 


PAGE  142,  VERSE  4,  LAST  LINES. 

"Forsake 
All  other  gods  for  love's  idolatry." 

It  appears  that  the  Hebrews  were  not  averse  to  intermarrying 
with  those  of  other  nations,  provided  such  would  embrace  their 
religion.  "  Pharaoh's  daughter  became,  it  is  supposed,  a  prose 
lyte  :  a  marriage  with  her  was  not,  therefore,  considered  a  fault  in 
their  wise  but  voluptuous  king."  —  See  ATotes  to  JoscpJnis. 


PAGE  145,  VERSE  4,  LINE  2. 

The  carneol  is  a  gem  of  carnation  tint,  which  for  hardness  ranks 
little  below  the  ruby  and  amethyst. 


PAGE  146,  LAST  VERSE,  LAST  LINE. 

"Are  thrown  to  bear  you  to  some  floating  isle ." 

For  an  account  of  those  flowery  islets  which  once  /louted  about 
the  Mississippi,  from  whose  mud  and  vegetation  they  Mere  formed, 
one  has  only  to  look  at  the  beginning  of  "Atala."  There  M.  de 
Chateaubriand  has  given  a  description  surpassed  only  by  the  exqui 
site  story  which  follows. 

•The  Mexicans,  before  the  conquest  of  their  city  by  Cortez,  were 
accustomed  to  sail  about  its  lakes  on  floating  islets :  Ui';t*,v  how 
ever,  must  have  been  constructed  by  art. 


252  NOTES   TO   CANTO   FIFTH. 

PAGE  147,  VERSE  i,  LAST  LINE. 

"  He  rears  his  white-ringed  neck,  and  watches  you  from  far." 

The  ring-necked  serpent  is  still  sometimes  seen  in  North  Amer 
ica  :  it  is  of  a  shining  black,  with  a  white  circle  about  its  neck,  as 
exact  as  if  drawn  with  a  pencil.  From  the  extreme  swiftness  of  its 
movement,  it  received  from  the  English  settlers  the  name  of  horse- 
racer.  Its  lifts  its  head,  from  time  to  time,  above  the  grass  through 
which  it  glides;  and  is  said  to  have  the  power  of  destroying  even 
men  by  twining  itself  about  them.  If  death,  however,  has  ever 
happened  from  that  cause,  the  cases  of  it  must  have  been  very 
unfrequent.  I  saw,  when  a  child,  a  very  young  snakelet  of  this 
kind,  which  had  been  found  in  a  cellar,  and  was  kept  in  spirits  of 
wine  by  the  woman  of  the  house  :  it  was  of  the  length  of  a  common 
pen,  and  very  smooth  and  delicate. 


PAGE  148,  VERSE  r,  LAST  LINE. 

"  That  from  the  City  cf  the  Dtri'e  ye  came." 

The  dove  was,  in  ancient  times,  the  device  of  the  Assyrian  Em 
pire,  as  the  eagle  was  that  of  the  Roman ;  and  was  adopted  from  a 
belief  that  the  Indian  god  Maha-cleva,  and  his  goddess  Parvate, 
once  assumed  the  appearance  of  doves  in  order  to  benefit  the 
inhabitants. 

The  worship  of  the  dove  was  peculiar  to  India,  Arabia,  Syria, 
and  Assyria.  Semiramis,  the  queen  and  beautifier  of  Babylon,  is 
said  to  have  been  fed  by  cloves  in  the  desert,  and  to  have  vanished 
at  last  from  the  sight  of  mortals  in  the  shape  of  a  dove. 

Semiramis  was  supposed  to  have  been  an  incarnation  of  Parvate, 
consort  of  Maha-deva,  or  Nature ;  which  goddess  was  called  Sami- 
rama,  from  a  circumstance  (related  in  one  of  the  Puranas)  of  her 
having  chosen  to  reside  in  a  Sami-tree,  whither  she  had  fled  from 
the  god,  her  husband,  in  a  fit  of  jealousy. 

It  is  from  the  Sami-trce  that  the  Indians  cut  the  A  rani,  a  cubic 
piece  of  wood,  from  which  they  obtain  fire  by  drawing  a  cord 
through  a  perforation  in  the  centre. 


ZAMBIA.  253 

According  to  the  fable,  a  fire  issued  from  Sami-rama  while  per 
forming  austere  devotion,  which  spread  over  the  whole  range  of 
mountains  near  her  retirement.  This  fire  she  confined  to  the  Samif- 
tree,  in  pity  to  the  neighboring  people. 

The  Arani  is  still  called  by  the  Indians  the  "  daughter  of  the 
Sami-tree,  and  mother  of  fire.  " 

See  an  extract  from  the  Hindoo  sacred  books,  contained  in  the 
"  Asiatic  Researches." 


PAGE  148,  LAST  VERSE,  LAST  Two  LINES. 

Fhrah :  the  original  name,  the  Euphrates,  is  thought  by  Jose- 
phus  to  signify  flower,  or  dispersion. 


PAGE  149,  FIRST  VERSE. 

"  Divine  Mylitta,  child  of  light,  and  that 
Which  from  dark  nothing  formed  the  teeming  earth," 

The  earnest  and  apparently  pure  adoration  of  Neantes  for  this 
goddess  may  proceed  from  some  glimpses  of  Oriental  and  Grecian 
cosmogony  caught  from  the  scribe,  his  former  master.  One  of  the 
Venuses  is  said  to  have  been  the  daughter  of  Ccelus  and  Light. 
This  personification  of  the  soul,  or  active  principle  of  creation,  by  a 
form  of  perfect  beauty,  was  an  idea  sublime,  perhaps,  as  delightful, 
but,  like  every  thing  else  of  excessive  refinement,  was  incapable  of 
being  generally  understood  in  the  manner  first  designed,  and 
soon  became  perverted  to  the  sanction  of  a  pernicious  licentious 
ness.  The  following  is  extracted  from  Enfield's  "  Compendium  of 
Brucker  : "  — 

"  There  were  different  opinions  among  the  ancients  concerning 
the  first  cause  of  nature.  Some  might  possibly  ascribe  the  origin 
of  all  things  to  a  generating  force,  destitute  of  thought,  which  they 
conceived  to  be  inherent  in  matter,  without  looking  to  any  higher 
principle.  But  it  is  probable  that  the  general  opinion  among  them 
was  that  which  had  prevailed  among  the  Egyptians  and  in  the 


254  NOTES    TO    CANTO    FIFTH. 

East,  and  was  communicated  by  traditions  to  the  Greeks,  —  that 
matter  or  chaos  existed  eternally  with  God ;  that,  by  the  divine 
energy  of  emanation,  material  forms  went  forth  from  him,  and  the 
visible  world  arose  into  existence.  This  principle  being  admitted, 
a  satisfactory  explanation  may  be  given  of  most  of  the  Grecian 
fables.  Upon  this  supposition,  their  doctrines  of  the  creation, 
divested  of  all  allegory  and  fable,  will  be  as  follows :  The  first 
matter,  containing  the  seeds  of  all  future  beings,  existed  from  eter 
nity  with  God.  At  length  the  divine  energy,  acting  upon  matter, 
produced  a  motion  among  its  parts,  by  which  those  of  the  same 
kind  were  brought  together,  and  those  of  a  different  kind  separated, 
and  by  which,  according  to  certain  wise  laws,  the  various  forms  of 
the  material  world  were  produced.  The  same  energy  of  emanation 
gave  existence  to  animals  and  men,  and  to  gods  -who  inhabit  the 
heavenly  bodies  and  various  other  parts  of  nature.  Among  men, 
those  who  possess  a  larger  portion  of  the  divine  nature  than  others 
are  hereby  impelled  to  great  and  beneficent  actions,  and  afford 
illustrious  proofs  of  their  divine  original,  on  account  of  which  they 
arc,  after  death,  raised  to  a  place  among  the  gods,  and  so  become 
objects  of  religious  worship."  This  is  perfectly  in  accordance  with 
the  Christian  belief,  that  the  places  left  vacant  by  the  fallen  angels 
are  to  be  supplied  by  human  souls ;  and  some  of  the  fathers  su]>- 
pose  that  such  secrets  could  only  have  been  communicated  to  the 
heathen  by  means  of  angels. 


PAGE  153,  VERSE  3. 

"  A  fairer  scene  warm  Syria  never  shall 
Behold." 

Of  the  festivals  given  in  honor  of  Mylitta,  Herodotus  has  given 
an  account ;  and  a  very  full  and  amusing  one  is  to  be  found  in 
"  Les  Voyages  d'Antenor."  No  blood  flowed  upon  the  altars  of 
this  goddess:  roses,  apple-blossoms,  fruits,  incense,  and  perfumes 
were  thought  more  acceptable  offerings.  Mylitta  is  but  one  of  the 
names  of  Venus. 


ZAMEIA.  255 

PAGE  154,  VERSE  3,  LINE  i. 

This  might  have  been  of  the  pomegranate-flower,  the  bright 
scarlet  of  which  is  very  becoming  to  a  dark  complexion :  it,  how 
ever,  respires  but  a  faint  odor.  There  is  also  a  species  of  mimosa, 
which  produces  a  splendid  scarlet  flower,  much  esteemed  by  the 
women  of  those  climates  where  it  is  found. 


PAGE  158,  VERSE  i,  LAST  LINE. 

"  The  gems  of  all  Ophir" 

Ophir,  or  Aurea  Chersonesus.  This  pronunciation  of  the  word 
is  agreeable  to  the  accent  of  all  modern  Oriental  languages,  which, 
as  they  are  generally  founded  on  the  Hebraic,  are,  of  course,  more 
conformable  to  the  ancient  sweetness  of  a  language  supposed  to 
have  been  that  of  angels  and  spirits  than  those  harsh  sounds  to 
which  it  is  now  perverted  by  English  and  North-American  theolo- 
gists.  The  present  Spanish  pronunciation  of  scriptural  names  is 
very  soft  and  delightful. 

The  language  in  which  the  Koran  is  written,  and  which  is  univer 
sally  studied  and  spoken  by  learned  Mahometans,  is  said  to  be  a 
dialect  of  the  Hebrew.  The  guttural  sounds  of  the  modern  Cas- 
tilian  have  probably  been  remotely  derived  from  the  same  source. 


PAGE  158,  LAST  VERSE,  LINE  i. 

"Holy  Euphrates  lowly  murmuring  swept." 

Rivers  were,  in  general,  held  sacred  by  the  nations  of  antiquity ; 
and  to  wash  the  hands,  spit,  or  throw  anything  of  an  impure  nature, 
into  the  Euphrates,  was  punished  by  the  Babylonians  as  an  act  of 
the  greatest  impiety.  Peleus  vowed  to  make  an  offering  of  the  hair 
of  Achilles  to  the  stream  Sperchius  in  case  he  returned  victor  from 
Troy. 


256  NOTES    TO    CANTO    FIFTH. 

PACK  159,  LAST  VKRSE,  LINE  i. 

"  Zamc'ia,  paler  tlian  the  ivory  white 
That  formed  the  pillars  of  her  couch." 

Ivory,  it  is  said,  v/as  not  much  heard  of  till  the  reign  of  Solomon, 
who  caused  it  to  be  brought  from  India  to  Palestine,  where  it  was 
considered  more  precious  than  gold;  but  afterwards  ivory  beds 
and  ivory  palaces  are  frequently  mentioned.  The  beautiful  statue 
carved  by  Pygmalion  of  Cyprus  is  said  to  have  been  of  ivory. 
Marble,  however,  when  white  and  pure,  was,  it  appears,  also  called 
ivory. 


PAGE  162,  LAST  VERSE. 

"  'Twas  written  on  papyrus  of  the  Nile, 
Fragrant  with  rose  ;  as  opening  lotos  white  ; 
And  gold  and  silver  dust  in  sprinkles  o  'er  it  smile." 

This  might  have  been.  The  Greeks,  however,  at  a  later  period, 
wrote  their  letters  on  thin  smooth  tablets  of  wood,  neatly  covered 
with  wax :  these  were  wrapped  in  linen,  and  sealed  with  the  wax 
of  Asia. 

According  to  Sir  William  Jones  and  others,  the  manuscripts  of 
the  modern  Persians  are  sprinkled  with  dust  of  gold  and  silver. 
These,  as  well  as  those  of  the  Arabians,  are  so  very  beautiful,  that 
those  accustomed  to  them  dislike  to  look  on  printed  copies. 

As  there  are  many  lovers  of  poetry  who  are  not  profound  scholars, 
the  following  extract  from  an  entertaining  work  may  not  be  un 
acceptable  :  — 

"  Les  tablettes  dcs  Grecs  etaient  des  tables  de  bois,  et  enduites 
de  cire  :  on  y  ecrivait  avec  un  petit  stylet  dc  cuivre,  de  fer,  ou 
d'or,  pointu  d'un  cote  et  plat  de  1'autre ;  ce  dernier  bout  scrvait  a 
effacer.  Les  Grecs  portaient  a  la  ceinture  un  etui  nomine  graphia- 
rium  ou  etaient  rcnfermes  ce  stylet  et  ces  tablettes. 

"  Les  lettres  que  les  particuliers  s'ecrivaient  etaient  sur  des 
tables  de  bois  mince,  deliees,  et  enduites  de  cire,  que  Ton  en- 
veloppait  de  lin,  et  que  Ton  cachetait  de  craie,  ou  de  cire  d'Asie. 
A  la  tete  de  leurs  lettres  ils  mettaient  ces  mots,  '  Joie  et  prosperite  : ' 


ZAMEIA.  257 

a  leur  fin,  cette  autre  formulc,  '  Portez-vous  bien,  soyez  heureux.' 
Les  Athenians  mettaient,  apres  leurs  noms,  dans  leur  signature, 
celui  de  leurs  peres,  et  les  pays  de  leur  naissance ;  par  example, 
'  Demosthene  de  Peanee,  fils  de  Demosthene.'" —  Voyages d* Antenor. 


PAGE  164,  VERSE  3. 

"  But  as  the  date-tree  sees  her  llossoms  die" 

The  palm-tree  is  said,  by  a  learned  writer,  to  be  "  the  most 
curious  and  interesting  subject  which  the  science  of  natural  history 
involves."  However  that  may  be,  the  most  eminent  naturalists, 
ancient  and  modern,  have  apparently  taken  pleasure  in  describing 
it.  A  very  full  and  satisfactory  account  of  this  surprising  vegeta 
ble  is  to  be  found  in  the  '  Amcenitates  Exotica; '  of  Kaempfer. 


PAGE  166,  VERSE  3. 

"  Not  the  string 

Of  Meles'  sandal,  scarf  about  his  waist, 
Or  feather  for  his  arrows,  was  a  thing 
More  wholly  his  than  she." 

The  old  Neantes  appears  to  suppose  this  destructive  passion  to 
be  no  fault  of  his  mistress,  but  thinks  her  inspired  with  it  by  their 
goddess  as  a  punishment  for  former  neglect.  Racine,  in  his  tra 
gedy  of  "  Phedre,"  extenuates  the  crimes  of  that  queen  by  a  similar 
supposition. 


NOTES  TO   CANTO   SIXTH. 


BRIDAL  OF   MELON. 

PAGE  172,  VERSE  i. 

"  The  bard  has  sung,  God  never  formed  a  soul 
Without  its  own  peculiar  mate." 

The  gods  (says  Plato  in  his  "  Banquet " )  formed  man,  at  first,  of 
a  round  figure,  with  two  bodies  and  two  sexes.  The  variety  of  his 
powers  rendered  him  so  audacious,  that  he  made  war  against  his 
creators.  Jupiter  was  about  to  destroy  him;  but,  reflecting  that 
with  him  the  whole  human  race  must  perish,  the  god  contented 
himself  with  merely  reducing  his  strength.  The  androgyne  was 
accordingly  separated  in  two  parts,  .and  Apollo  received  the  order 
of  perfecting  them.  P'rom  that  time,  each  part,  though  become  a 
separate  being,  seeks,  desires,  and  feels  a  continual  impulse,  to 
meet  the  other.  —  See  Voyages  d'Antetior,  tome  i.  chap.  22. 

Some  of  the  Jewish  rabbins  have  entertained  a  similar  opinion. 
According  to  their  accounts,  Adam  was  created  male  and  female, — 
man  on  one  side,  woman  on  the  other ;  and  God  afterwards  sepa 
rated  the  two  forms  that  were  before  united. 

"  Les  androgynes  avait  deux  sexes,  deux  tetes,  quatre  bras,  quatre 
pieds." —  Voyages  d'Antenor.  —  See  Note  to  vol.  i. 

It  was  evidently  from  such  opinions,  as  well  as  his  own  feelings, 
258 


BRIDAL    OF    IIELON.  259 

that  Dr.  Watts   conceived  the  idea  of  that  popular  little   poem 
which  he  has  called  "  The  Indian  Philosopher." 

The  different  accounts  of  creation  are  sufficiently  amusing.  It  is 
said,  in  the  Talmud,  that  God  did  not  wish  to  create  woman,  be 
cause  he  foresaw  that  her  husband  would  very  soon  have  to  com 
plain  of  her  perversity :  he  therefore  waited  till  Adam  asked  her 
of  him,  and  then  took  every  precaution  to  make  her  as  good  as 
possible.  Pie  would  not  take  her  from  the  head,  lest  she  should 
have  sufficient  wit  and  spirit  to  become  a  coquette  ;  nor  from  the 
eyes,  lest  she  should  cast  mischievous  glances ;  nor  from  the  mouth, 
lest  she  should  listen  at  doors ;  nor  from  the  heart,  lest  she  should 
be  jealous ;  nor  from  the  hands  or  the  feet,  lest  she  should  be  a 
thief  or  a  runaway.  But  every  precaution  was  vain :  she  had  all 
these  defects,  although  drawn  from  the  most  quiet  and  honest  part 
that  could  possibly  be  found  about  Adam.  (This  is  merely  trans 
lated  from  M.  de  Lender.) 


PAGE  173,  VERSE  i. 

"  And  formed  in  every  fibre  for  such  love 
As  Heaven  not  yet  had  given  her  to  share." 

Souls,  according  to  Plato,  are  rays  of  the  divinity,  which,  ere 
they  are  shut  up  in  the  gross  envelope  of  mortality,  pass  through 
a  state  of  existence,  during  which  an  invincible  attraction  unites 
them  two  by  two,  and  inflames  them  with  a  love  pure  and  celestial. 
When  embodied  upon  earth,  these  souls,  thus  previously  united, 
continually  seek  and  feel  a  propensity  for  each  other,  and,  unless 
they  are  so  happy  as  to  meet,  can  never  be  animated  by  a  true  and 
genuine  affection. 

PAGE  187,  LAST  VERSE. 

"  He  said,  all  a  'er  to  radiant  beauty  warming  : 
While  they,  in  doubt  of  what  they  looked  «/<>«, 
Beheld  a  form  dissolving,  dazzling,  charming; 
But,  ere  their  lips  found  utterance,  it  •was  gone." 

Flesh  is  said  to  be  composed  of  carbon,  oxygen,  hydrogen,  and 


26O  NOTES   TO   CANTO   SIXTH. 

nitrogen.  If  men  have  already  been  able  to  discover  its  materials, 
the  power  of  making  and  dissolving  it  at  pleasure  may,  without  in 
consistency,  be  ascribed  to  beings  so  much  superior  to  them  as 
angels  have  ever  been  thought.  Indeed,  the  supposition  of  such  a 
power  is  the  only  thing  that  can  give  the  least  semblance  of  possi 
bility  to  what  has  been  related  of  good  and  evil  angels. 

The  following  passage,  extracted  by  Brucker  from  the  writings 
of  Bonaventura,  looks  as  reasonable  as  any  thing  which  has  ever 
yet  been  said  concerning  the  mysterious  union  of  spirit  and  body  : 
"The  formal  principles  of  bodies  are  celestial  bodies,  which,  by 
their  accession  or  recession,  cause  the  production  or  corruption  of 
the  inferior.  It  may,  therefore,  be  concluded  that  there  is  in  these 
occult  forms  a  capacity  of  being  restored  to  higher  principles, — 
namely,  celestial  bodies ;  or  to  powers  still  higher  than  these,  — 
that  is,  to  separate  intellectual  substances,  which,  in  their  respective 
operations,  leave  traces  of  themselves." 


PAGE  189,  LAST  VERSE. 

"Hope,  Zophiel!  hope,  Jiope,  hope  !  thou  hast  a  friend  !" 

As  Zophiel  appears  to  have  no  evil  propensity,  and  commits  only 
such  crimes  as  are  occasioned  by  the  violence  of  his  love,  Raphael 
may  think  it  possible  to  induce  him  to  repent,  and  ultimately  obtain 
pardon.  Haruth  and  Maruth  were  condemned  for  a  time  to  inhabit 
a  cavern  beneath  the  Tower  of  Babel,  with  the  permission  of  return 
ing  to  heaven  after  a  proper  expiation  of  their  offences.  Their 
appearance  in  this  cavern  is  beautifully  represented  in  "  Thalaba." 
These  angels,  according  to  the  story,  had  obtained,  while  in  heaven, 
such  a  reputation  for  wisdom,  that  they  were  sent  on  earth  to  judge 
the  whole  race  of  men.  They  soon,  however,  became  so  enamoured 
of  the  beautiful  Zohara,  that  she  obtained  from  them  the  most  holy 
of  secrets. 


NOTES    OF   ZOPH1EL.  26 1 


THE  notes  of  "  Zophiel "  were  written,  some  in  Cuba,  some  in  Can 
ada,  some  at  Hanover,  U.  S.,  some  at  Paris ;  and  the  last  at  Kes- 
wick,  Eng.,  under  the  kind  encouragement  of  Robert  Southey, 
Esq.,  and  near  a  window  which  overlooks  the  beautiful  Lake 
Derwent,  and  the  finest  groups  of  those  mountains  which  encircle 
completely  that  charming  valley  where  the  Greta  winds  over  its 
bed  of  clean  pebbles,  looking  as  clear  as  dew. 

MARIA   GOWEN   BROOKS. 
APRIL  15,  1831. 


"  Altogether  the  •volume  Is  one  of  marked  excellence,  and  one  which  will 
make  a  decided  impression  upon  the  reading  public."  —  BOSTON  TKANSCRIFT. 


MEG,  A  PASTORAL, 

AND   OTHER  POEMS. 

By  Mrs.  ZADEL  BARNES  GUSTAFSON.      i6mo.      Cloth,  $1.50. 


"  This  volume  has  the  impress  of  a  genuine  poet,  endowed  with  a  fertile  and 
graceful  fancy,  a  well-attuned  ear,  and  a  fluent  vocabulary." — Boston  Gazette. 

"  Between  her  own  poetic  gifts  and  her  liberal  literary  experience,  Mrs.  Gustaf- 
son  has  been  particular  to  produce  that  which  a  certain  class  of  people  have  long 
been  hungering  for,  namely,  a  love-story  of  elevated  type  told  in  elevated  verse. 
'  Meg '  is  one  of  the  sweetest  pastorals  that  has  been  published  for  many  a  day. 
It  is  fragrant  with  the  odor  of  clover-blooms,  and  the  revelation  of  woman's  nature 
is  as  true  as  any  that  has  ever  been  presented.  The  story  is  told  with  a  sympathy 
on  the  part  of  the  writer  that  completely  wins  over  the  reader  at  the  very  outset, 
and  holds  him  fascinated  till  the  tale  is  finished.  The  other  poems  of  the  volume 
are  also  of  a  superior  nature,  and  embrace  a  number  of  popular  themes."  — 
Chicago  Times. 

"  The  volume  contains,  among  the  other  fresh  work  from  Mrs.  Gustafson,  a 
graceful  dramatic  poem  entitled  '  Meg,'  which,  if  we  are  not  greatly  mistaken,  will 
attract  much  attention.  Her  memorial  poem  on  William  Cullen  Bryant  is  one  of 
the  worthiest  tributes  yet  paid  America's  great  poet  of  nature.  All  nature  is  rep 
resented  as  saluting  him.  The  opening  o"f  the  poem  is  in  a  most  stately  elegiac 
style;  but  this  presently  changes  to  a  more  joyous,  triumphal  strain,  as  full  as 
Mendelssohn's  '  Midsummer  Night's  Dream,'  music  of  revelling  fairies,  flowers,  and 
insects,  chanting  or  preparing  to  chant  a  fit  threnody  to  welcome  to  his  repose 
among  them  him  '  who  had  loved  them  best."  "  —  Boston  Transcript. 

"  The  first  half  of  this  volume  is  composed  of  three  poems  which  have  not  before 
appeared  in  print.  The  opening  one,  which  gives  name  to  the  book,  is  a  country 
love-story  in  dramatic  form,  told  with  studied  simplicity.  The  second  is  a  fine 
memorial  poem  on  William  Cullen  Bryant,  in  which  the  sympathy  of  nature  and 
man  with  the  departed  poet  is  expressed  in  eloquent  and  melodious  measures.  The 
frame  of  the  poem  suggests  a  symphony,  — a  delicate  pastoral  prelude,  a  gracious 
allegro,  modulating  to  a  sweet  andante,  and  a  finale  of  sustained  dignity."  — 
Springfield  Republican. 

The  following  is  printed  by  permission,  from  the  letter  of  a  distinguished 
author  after  his  examination  of  advance  sheets  of  "  Meg,  a  Pastoral,  and 
other  Poems." 

"  In  the  title  poem  Mrs.  Gustafson  tells  a  charming  little  love-story.  There  is 
no  attempt  at  unusualness  in  scene  or  plot,  which  is  laid  in  New-England  country 
life,  during  the  earlier  days  of  the  late  Rebellion.  The  author's  power  and  quality 
as  a  poet  is,  therefore,  to  be  judged  from  the  higher  standpoint  of  characterization, 
coloring,  and  interpretation.  In  these  Mrs.  Gustafson's  work  reaches  great  emi 
nence,  and  gives  her  at  once  an  undoubted  place  in  the  front  rank  of  our  poets. 
She  writes  with  almost  faultless  melody,  with  fine  healthful  spirituality,  and  with  a 
simplicity  which  proves  her  possession  of  an  imagination  as  trained  as  it  is  rich 
and  vivid." 


Sold  ly  all  booksellers,  and  sent  by  mail,  postpaid,  on 
receipt  of  price. 

LEE  &  SHEPARD,  Publishers  Boston. 


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